WELCOME. To the new story of Indigo Intrigue, an angel who did not so much fall as saunter vaguely downwards. Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle, because it's going to be rough.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to me. *receives swift kick in nether regions* I mean, nothing belongs to me but the plot, and, of course, the characters you don't recognize.

All future author's notes will be in bold.

Don't stop reading because it begins with Elizabeth and the governor. It gets better. I give you my word as an author.

Review at the end, if you feel like it. (And I hope you do.) Constructive criticism is always appreciated, flames will be used to keep me warm in those chilly winter months

Many, many thanks to ThePenMage for her magnificent beta-ing. I love you! *huggles*

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Chapter One

Beginning

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"Elizabeth?"

Weatherby Swann, governor of Port Royal, paused at the bottom of the stairs. He frowned, expecting a response from his daughter. When one didn't come, he called again. "Elizabeth? Are you awake?"

"A moment!" The reply rang out, slightly muffled due to a closed door.

"Ahh, good," Swann commented, beginning to climb the stairs. "I'd hoped you were." He motioned two package-laden servants to follow him up the stairs.

Upon reaching the second floor, Swann was slightly exasperated to find that Elizabeth had not yet emerged from her room — after all, a daughter should be ready to greet her father. He rapped irritably on the door. "What are you doing in there? Are you decent?"

The door opened with a flourish. "I am now!" Elizabeth Swann declared good-naturedly. A maid behind her glanced at the governor while hanging an embroidered dressing gown.

Swann smiled, the picture of a proud father. His Elizabeth had grown up well, into a fine young lady, and fit for society as well. If only—

Elizabeth's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Father, was there a reason you sought me out? Or did you just want to stand in front of me and think of other things?" she teased gently.

Shaking his head slightly to clear it, the governor answered. "No, there is a purpose to my call. Your new gowns arrived from Paris this morning — I was hoping, if you weren't otherwise occupied, you could begin the fittings today, to make sure everything is in order for Founder's Day. It is less than a week away, you know"

"Actually," Elizabeth began, "I am a bit busy. I was planning on going down to the market. I need a new, uh mirror. My old one is too small. I can't see my whole head when I look in it." She looked expectantly at her father.

"Elizabeth," the governor chuckled. "That's what servants are for! Send" He glanced at the maid, who was now tidying up. "Send Emily to find you a mirror, and remain for your fitting!"

"Emily doesn't have very good taste," Elizabeth protested. Emily shook her head, hiding a smile. "I must insist on going myself."

The governor sighed. "I suppose—" He broke off suddenly, looking at her sharply. One of her plainer dresses, comfortable shoes, cosmetics carefully applied to her face

Swann's face darkened. "You don't need a new mirror," he said quietly.

Elizabeth looked away.

His suspicions confirmed, the governor spoke again. "You're going to see him."

Elizabeth met his gaze defiantly. "And what if I am?" she countered, a fire smoldering in her dark brown eyes. "Father, you of all people know that Will and I have been courting for over eight months! It's hardly improper for me to want to visit him! What is improper is the fact that you still won't use his name!

She took a breath, visibly trying to compose herself. "Father," she continued more calmly, "You've known Will for years. You were fond of him once. Why does your opinion change now that he's courting me?" She shook her head.

Weatherby Swann closed his eyes in a long blink. While he had accepted Will's "love" and Elizabeth's attraction originally, he had believed it to be a thing of the moment. He had been convinced that, given time, their relationship would fall apart as their devotion faded. Giving in to his willful daughter's wish had seemed most diplomatic at the time. But now — eight months! — he was beginning to regret his decision.

He could hardly tell Elizabeth. "Mr. Turner has shown that he has a penchant for obstinacy and rash decisions. I'm only worried about how those traits will affect you—"

His daughter's eyes darkened. "You gave your blessing on the day he made his intentions known, knowing his character and his past. You can hardly withdraw it now." Elizabeth stalked past him. "I'll attend the fitting later."

"Elizabeth!" Swann cried, clearly aggravated. His daughter whirled to face him. Choose your battles he thought. Resigned, he sighed and told her, "At least take a chaperone. It is unsuitable for you to be alone with him."

"Fine." Her response was laced with suppressed wrath. "I'll see if anyone can be spared." And with that, Elizabeth Swann hurried angrily down the stairs.

The governor shook his head. He addressed the two silent manservants, still faithfully carrying their burdens. "Put the boxes in her room." Walking to the entrance of his suite, he added, "I'm not to be disturbed unless it's an emergency," and shut the door.

***

Elizabeth walked down the stairs, fuming. These turbulent bouts with her father were getting more and more frequent, and each time her anger arose quicker. The anger itself came from different sources, not the least of which was frustration.

She had hoped, eight months ago, that marriage would be in her near future. She loved Will, and knew that he loved her, and nothing would have made her happier than to wed him. But Will proved to be almost shy in how he was going about courting her. Now that their relationship was at least somewhat official, he seemed awkward and unsure around her, more often than she liked. It happened most when they were around other people; when they were alone, he was usually perfectly normal.

It was when they were alone that she enjoyed being with Will the most. She loved the tenderness he showed her, appreciated his sharp wit and admired his intelligence. And the kisses they exchanged were always skin-tingling experiences she longed to repeat.

In part, she believed that his work was becoming an increasingly difficult burden to bear. After returning to Port Royal following their adventures on the high seas, Will had opened his own blacksmith shop, specializing in swordsmithing. Once Master Brown's customers realized that the smith behind their swords was not Brown, but Will, the jobs flew in. Even with an apprentice, John, to handle the mundane blacksmithing tasks such as horseshoes and handles, Will often worked late into the night to complete an order, cutting into their time together even more.

And her father's recent attitude towards Will had become decidedly frosty, for reasons Elizabeth couldn't (or didn't want to) acknowledge. It was just another reason why she liked being alone with him, although her father had recently begun to require a chaperone to accompany her whenever she went to visit Will.

Elizabeth realized she had been standing at the bottom of the stairs for several minutes, with her father's manservants standing patiently behind her, not wanting to disturb her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, moving away. "I'm sorry! I– I forgot what I was doing."

"It's not a problem, Miss Elizabeth," murmured one of them — George, he was called — before sidling away.

Remembering her original intention, Elizabeth made her way to the kitchen. Sticking her head in the door, she found the cooks taking a moment of rest before beginning the luncheon. Knowing that Elizabeth was not as concerned with formalities as her father was, they remained seated.

Most of the hired help in the governor's house liked the young lady well enough — she was always kind with them, and took care to give them an extra shilling whenever it could be spared. Some of them had been with her since she was a small child, coming with her family from England – including one of the cooks, named Emma.

"Excuse me," she began. "Can any of you be spared to escort me to Mr. Turner's shop?"

Emma replied, "Sarah's at the market, Miss Elizabeth, picking up food for supper." The other cook, Alice, hid a smile.

Elizabeth smiled herself. "I see. How long do you expect her to be gone?"

"I'd say another two hours, at least," answered Emma.

"Wonderful!" Elizabeth paused, then grinned. "I'm glad we understand each other." She ducked back out the door, so preoccupied with thoughts of the next few hours that she didn't hear the quiet chuckles of the cooks.

Elizabeth gave herself fifteen minutes for the walk to the shop either way, which added up to an hour and a half she got to spend with Will. She grinned again, this time in anticipation; it had been a few days since she had been alone with him.

The banging noises began at fifty feet from the shop; the smell of hot metal at ten feet. Upon reaching the door, Elizabeth pushed it open quietly.

Will stood with his back to the door, pounding a sword into shape on the anvil. Each blow began high above his head, bringing the hammer down to shape the blade with expert ability. Sparks flew as he worked, and Elizabeth stood for a moment in the doorway, admiring his skill as well as his strength.

When Will shoved the piece of metal back into the forge, she made her presence known. "I love watching you work," she announced, walking down a small set of stairs to the shop's floor.

Will whirled around, startled. When he saw who it was, his dark eyes lit up, and he walked to greet her. "Hello," he said quietly, taking her hands in his.

"And to you," returned Elizabeth. She took her hand from his and put it to his face, tracing his jawline. Will's arm slid around the small of her back, and he pulled her to him, gently sliding his lips over hers.

Warm shivers ran over Elizabeth's body as Will pulled her close, melding their bodies together. He was still warm from the heat of the forge, and he smelled like metal. Elizabeth found she didn't care. Her hands found their way to the back of his neck, twining in his black locks as he rubbed her back in tiny circles. Elizabeth lost track of time, content in his embrace.

Finally, they broke apart, breathing a little more heavily for the greeting. "Why, Mr. Turner," said Elizabeth lightly. "Do you greet everyone who comes into your shop like that?"

"I've missed you," he explained, smiling.

"And I you," she replied softly. They exchanged another quick kiss.

"So!" Elizabeth said, breaking away. "What is it that keeps you so busy?"

Will cleared his throat and strode to the forge. He lifted a finished sword. "Ten of these," he answered, offering her the handle. She took it and smiled; it was perfectly balanced. Taking a closer look at the sword, she gasped. Gold filigree was inlaid into the handle in an intricate design, as well as ten perfect rubies in a circle around the hilt. Each sword also had initials picked out in silver and inlaid into the handle.

"What are they for?" she asked, awed.

"Founder's Day." Will rolled his eyes. "A special order, put in by the governor himself. Something about honoring the captains of his finest ships."

"Oh," Elizabeth said, suddenly dismayed. "From my father. Will, how long does it take you to make one of these?"

Will shrugged while furrowing his brow in thought. "I don't know about a day and a half, I'd say."

Elizabeth didn't answer. Perhaps she was being unfair, but was it pure coincidence that caused her father to put in a demanding order just as he began to continually protest their courtship?

"Elizabeth?" Will gently touched her cheek. "Is something the matter? You look troubled."

She shook her head, catching his hand. "No, it's– It's nothing." She smiled. "Now, we have an hour and a half before I'll be missed. Can we go somewhere, or"

Will was already shaking his head sadly. "This order is just too big. And it must be finished by Tuesday! I really must keep working."

"Very well," said Elizabeth, hiding her disappointment. "I'll stay here and watch you. I love to watch you work."

"You already said that," Will told her, smiling.

"Which only makes it doubly true. Now, get to work!" She shooed him on, and laughing, he picked up the hammer and drew a cherry-red blade from the forge.

***

Meanwhile, somewhere in the Caribbean

"Here it is."

The voice was soft, stunned. A young man leaned over the dusty pages of an open book, reading aloud. "In 1686 a man named Jean Goudreau, captain of the Cardinal, found an as-yet-uncharted island, located at 69 west longitude, 15 north latitude. He found naught but a cave, and a door in the cave, and an inscription over the door reading, 'Seek ye out the Kings of Port Royal.' Behind the door, he claimed to have heard horrible shrieking. He left the island after three days and refused to have anything more to do with it, calling it the 'Isle des Ames Perdues.'"

"The Island of Lost Souls. How poetic." The speaker was a tall woman with long red hair. She moved to the young man, running a long fingernail down the side of his face. He shivered. "What does it mean by the Kings of Port Royal?" the woman asked softly.

He shrugged nervously. "Probably what's needed to open the door. The Kings of Port Royal Port Royal doesn't have any kings. Most likely, it means we need the highest ranking authority from Port Royal."

"And why might that be?" She ran her fingers through his hair.

"H– He probably has some old heirloom key that opens the door" the young man whispered.

"You've done an excellent job, James. You found the island!" she whispered, bending close to his ear. Her tongue flicked out and licked it, and he flinched and turned away.

Suddenly, the woman straightened. She strode to the door of the cabin, threw it open, and shouted, "We've got us an island, me 'earties!" A clamorous roar set up from the decks. "But first," she continued. Immediate silence set in. "We've a stop to make."

"Where're we goin', Cap'n?" someone called loudly.

The woman grinned, her lips setting into an expression that was both predatory and dangerous. "Port Royal." She paused. "We're to find ourselves the governor."

***

Well, there it was! I hope you liked it, because I really liked writing it. Please review! Tell me what you thought!

–Lydia