Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean
The Heaviest Price
In this changing world of merchants, trade and bargains, one survived best by doing good business, but the price can be steep. So one must ask oneself, what price are you willing to pay?
She had never known such conflicting joy and sadness.
The moment the Endeavour had been shot and sunk, Lord Beckett dead, and the armada of English vessels had turned tail and fled, the pirates had erupted into rousing cheers that echoed across the sea.
She shared in their victorious triumph, but she glanced across the wreckage to the Flying Dutchman, and saw her new captain staring back. And she felt her heart sinking, the deepest, darkest despair pulling at it. Was this to be the end to their grand adventure?
What would happen now?
So much had happened in so little time, and she, Elizabeth Turner now, found that she had far too many questions to ask about a far too uncertain future.
Where would she go now? Her father was dead, as was James Norrington. As such, should she even entertain thoughts of returning to Port Royal?
But if she did, what would she be? What was her rank and station now, in this ever-changing world?
She had been voted pirate King, but only at the wiles and unpredictability of Jack Sparrow. She had no ship or crew to truly call her own.
Stripped of father and now, her husband. Never in her life did she feel so lost. What would she do now?
"Milady! Your chariot awaits!"
She turned, glancing at the rowboat that Pintel was pointing at with flourishing gestures.
"The oars are in the boat." He added with a snigger.
She smiled. So many questions, and no answers at all. But it would all have to wait; it would all have to wait on this one day.
He was waiting for her when she finally reached the shore, having rowed there after the crew sent her off with knowing grins.
Her breath caught in her throat when he smiled at her, and she was ridiculously reminded of the day that she realised that she loved William Turner.
On that day, she had taken note of how dashing he looked with that smile in place, the warm twinkle in his brown eyes.
He looked just as handsome, if not more so in his pirate regalia.
They trudged up the shore, holding hands, leaving only their footprints and two swords struck into the sand.
It was Calypso's rule. One day on land, for every ten years at sea. Perhaps it was this looming promise of separation, perhaps it was their long delayed wedding, but she clung to him, listened fervently to his every whispered word, and worshipped his body as he worshipped hers.
Every girl since childhood dreamt of her wedding, and she was no exception. While getting married by a less than trustworthy pirate captain, and coming together in an overdue kiss in the midst of vicious swordfights and shattering splinters was not the ideal church wedding, she couldn't have asked, or expected, any more from her wedding. As chaotic and impulsive as it had been, she had seen sincerity in his eyes, known that he wanted to marry her, and loved him for it.
And while the sandy little island offered only rocks and no beds, she was content and satisfied.
He laid her on the warm sand, and divested her of her clothing, before shedding his own and joining his starving body with hers.
All she heard was the scrape of sand, the crush of gravel, and the waves lapping in and out; a cacophony of sounds that was completed by her moans and his heavy breathing.
All she could see was the clear blue skies and his face as he hovered over her, a tired yet smug smile affixed upon his lips.
All she could feel was the heat of the sun and his body, the prick of sand on her back and exquisite, exquisite pleasure.
He was unselfish, and loved her and gave her all, body and soul. And she gave as she took; matching him pace for pace, kiss for passionate kiss.
The sun was setting, and she watched as he pulled on his boot.
"I'm going to need the other one." He called over his shoulder, and she placed her right leg onto the rock, next to him, proudly displaying his other boot.
He looked up at her and she smiled back at him mischievously. Smugness lined her face, and contentment emanated from her entire being.
His eyes dropped to her booted leg, and he knelt before her, his hands placing themselves on her thigh. She tiled her head back with a sigh and smile as he nuzzled her knee, placing soft kisses on her bare skin as he drew the boot off her leg.
"It's almost sunset," he whispered, and she felt her smile disappear.
He pulled the black leather boot on, and walked towards his coat, pulling it off the rock, revealing the infamous chest that once held Davy Jones' heart.
He turned to look back at her, his Elizabeth, dressed only in a long shirt belted at the waist, her legs still bare.
They could both hear his heart, beating as it lay in the chest.
He touched the chest. "It has always been yours. Keep it safe for me?"
And she nodded, biting at her lip as she felt her eyes tearing. He gave her one last smile, took one last long look at her, before he turned resolutely towards the water. Pain blossomed in her chest, and she tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to tear themselves free.
She watched, felt her heart being wrenched from her chest, leaving with this brave young man who had given much for the better of the world. She ran towards him, calling his name desperately, and then she was kissing him, being kissed, and held in his arms tightly, as if he would never let go.
Elizabeth Turner had heard plenty about deals, bargains and prices over the course of their adventure. Her hand rested on the scar over where his heart would have been, where the crew of the Dutchman had carved it out and placed it in a chest.
Oh, she had heard much about deals, bargains and prices, but his scar and her tears spoke of the heaviest price that they had paid together.
One day on land, for every ten years at sea.
She trembled in his arms, and he leaned his forehead to hers, their noses almost touching.
"Keep a weather eye on the horizon" he whispered, and then turned away.
She watched his broad back, striking an imposing figure against the setting sun, watched until he reached the sea, and returned to the Flying Dutchman.
The ship cut an impressive sight, set against the horizon.
She watched as the Dutchman sailed into the setting sun, carrying her husband and captain away from her.
There was a sudden flash of green light… and then he was gone.
Finis