The Long Journey Home
-A Work of Fanfiction-
By
Nightmarish
The journey back to England was a long one.
Elizabeth liked to think that she had been on a fair number of journeys in her relatively short life, and though many of them had indeed been long, none had ever seemed quite so long or tedious as this one did now, for all that she had traveled to the very ends of the earth and beyond.
The difference, she decided, was that in the past she had always been sailing towards something, towards some greater goal or purpose; now, for the first time, she was sailing away. Away from the temperate climate of the Caribbean, away from the secret thrill of piracy and adventure, and, most importantly of all, away from Will.
Ten years was a long time, no matter how one looked at it.
With the culmination of her latest adventure and the grief of her husband's departure, Elizabeth had chosen to return to Port Royal, desperately seeking whatever comforts she could find – only to discover, soon after arriving, that nothing remained for her there save heartache and the ghosts of memories. There would be no comfort during the long nights spent alone, no one to hold her close and whisper words of reassurance, no one to wipe away the tears that flowed unbidden in the wake of the gut-wrenching nightmares.
And so, with her father dead, Will gone, and herself five months pregnant, she chartered a ship to England with a small portion of her inheritance. She sent a message ahead to her uncle letting him know of her pending arrival, dismissed the servants, and packed her belongings herself, leaving much of what she owned behind in favor of a few choice items: her mother's jewelry, a few books from her father's collection, her own Chinese finery, and enough clothing to get through an English winter. Into a second trunk she piled the weaponry and trinkets she had amassed on the voyage to World's End, and lastly, with great care, she packed the iron chest containing Will's heart into a small valise she thereafter refused to let out of her sight.
It was raining when she boarded The Lady Amelia.
Captain Harrison was a good man, but had a nervous temperament and a sailor's affinity for superstition.
"For all that pirates are a dying breed," he made a point of telling her on several occasions, pulling anxiously at his moustache as he did so, "I'd sooner eat my own boot than cross paths with one of the brethren these days. You must have heard the tale – why, they say the great lords of the sea themselves defeated an entire armada not half a year gone by. Cursed waters, Ma'am, if you'll pardon me for saying so. I do hope I haven't frightened you, what with you being in your condition and all."
Elizabeth smiled, a little wistfully, but said nothing, resting one hand on her growing belly and thinking privately that pirates were the least of her worries.
O
Uncle Thomas, after professing his deepest regrets at the passing of his brother-in-law, was positively delighted to have her. A widower, he took her hands in his own, smiling warmly as he confided that the house had been quiet for far too long. He showed her to the guest bedroom, and saw to it that the nursery, which had lain untouched since his youngest – now married with a family of his own – had last had a use for it, was cleared out to make way for a new child.
Elizabeth, accepting his hospitality was as much gratitude she could muster, slipped quietly into London life, and on one uncommonly clear morning in December, William James Turner slipped just as quietly into the world.
And as Elizabeth held the babe close to her chest, swaddled in embroidered blankets from her own childhood, she whispered a silent thank you to whoever had seen fit to gift her with this small piece of Will. The tiny infant would be a blessing in the long winter months to come, because for all that she had Uncle Thomas to keep her company, Elizabeth still felt lonelier than she had in her entire life, save, perhaps, those first weeks following her own mother's death all those years ago.
Smiling softly as the slumbering child – to be called by his second name in order to avoid confusion – yawned and snuggled deeper into her breast, Elizabeth felt a rush of resolve flood through her. With James at her side, she could brave anything, weather any storm, because ten years didn't seem nearly so long when one was no longer spending them alone.
James kept her busy for the first few years of his existence, for which Elizabeth was eternally grateful. Between midnight feedings and dirty nappies, which progressed slowly into bedtime stories and cases of the sniffles, she hardly had a moment alone to brood. Throwing herself into motherhood with a vigor quite unlike any she had experienced before, she often bypassed the nursemaid in favor of taking most child-raising duties upon herself to perform. She paused only to eat and sleep, it seemed, and found herself loving every minute of it.
O
The first reminder of her past came just days before James' third birthday.
A small package was delivered to the house anonymously during the night, with C. Elizabeth Turner scrawled across the brown paper wrappings in an unfamiliar hand. Although there were no other identifying markings, Elizabeth knew immediately who it must be from. She picked it up with trembling hands.
"What does the C. stand for, I wonder?" Thomas queried, peering over her shoulder with open curiosity. "A funny way of addressing a package. C. Elizabeth Turner."
Elizabeth, who knew exactly what the C. stood for and could think of only one person who would put it on a package, did not reply. Instead, she fetched a knife from the kitchen and cut the twine. Inside, nestled between layers of richly colored silks and gauze, was a plain glass vial, no taller than the width of her palm, filled with a clear liquid.
Elizabeth sat down with a thump, head spinning. Jack, she thought, what have you done now?
"No letter," Thomas remarked, poking through the silks with interest. "I wonder who sent it."
Elizabeth ignored him, staring instead at the vial cradled in her hand. She weighed her options carefully for several minutes. Coming to an abrupt decision, she stood, and crossed to the sink. She unscrewed the top, and, hesitating only for a moment, dumped the contents into the basin. Setting the now-empty vial on the counter to be washed, she returned to the table and cleared away the paper wrappings.
Only later that night, alone in her bedroom with the door locked and the sheets drawn up to her chin, did she allow herself to cry.
O
The second reminder came in just as abrupt a fashion some three years later.
Captain Teague was quite possibly the last person Elizabeth had expected to find when the flustered housekeeper informed her she had a visitor waiting in the parlor, although she decided later that his sudden appearance wasn't that surprising, all things considered. But she took it in stride, calling the maid to bring in a fresh pot of tea, and settled down in the comfortable armchair across from the captain, telling herself that she could always have the settee reupholstered when he left.
He informed her – between sips from a dainty china teacup that in his jewel-studded hand looked both natural and out of place at the same time – that a crisis had arisen in East Asian waters that required her immediate attention as Pirate Lord of Singapore. As Keeper of the Code, he explained, it was his duty to make sure she followed hers.
She informed him that she was retired, and had quite enough to keep her occupied without sailing halfway around the globe on another mad adventure, thank-you-very-much.
"Besides," she said, looking pointedly at James, who was grinning so hard it looked almost painful, "what on earth would I do with the boy?"
"Oh, he'll come along," Teague said, waving it away. "A lad his age is more than ready to learn the art of being a pirate."
"James is not going to become a pirate," Elizabeth said firmly, ignoring her son's shouts of protest. "And he is certainly not being raised in Singapore."
O
Three days later, they boarded The Empress, telling Thomas they'd send word when they arrived safely at their destination.
O
James took to Chinese like a duck to water, and took to water even faster.
After Elizabeth got over her initial fears that he would be kidnapped, corrupted, or worse, she relaxed quickly into life as a pirate lord. Her nervousness was dampened slightly when Captain Teague, who had taken an apparent shine to the boy, made it clear that anyone who so much as looked at him in a suspicious manner would soon be wishing he or she had never been born. Elizabeth had her own suspicions that Teague was grooming her son to become the next Keeper of the Code, but put the thought out of her mind for the time being.
One month turned into several, and before she knew it, an entire year had passed since they had left their quiet life in England behind. Several letters had made their way back to Uncle Thomas (all heavily edited, of course) but Elizabeth knew in her heart that that part of her life was over.
She had acquired a taste for adventure, and found herself unable to ignore the call of the sea any longer.
O
It was immediately following James' seventh birthday that Captain Jack Sparrow waltzed back into her life.
"Elizabeth!" he called jovially from his position upside down and tied to the mast of her ship, which had been re-christened The Tia Dalma upon her return to Singapore, in tribute to the wild goddess of the sea. "Wonderful! Now, if you'd be a dear and tell these two burly fellows to untie me, things would be much more better and I'd be able to greet ye proper."
"Jack Sparrow," she drawled, feigning surprise despite the fact that she had decided long ago that nothing Jack Sparrow did would ever surprise her again. "Fancy meeting you in Singapore. On my ship, no less."
"That's Captain Jack Sparrow," he corrected automatically. "I'd have thought you'd remember that by now."
"I don't see your ship," she said, throwing a casual glance about harbor. "Don't tell me you've lost it again."
"Lost isn't quite the word I would use. Stolen is much more accurate a term."
Elizabeth hid a smile, and turned to beckon her son closer. "James, what say you? Shall we let him go free?"
"Lock 'im in the brig!" James replied with fervor. It was one of his favorite lines, and well-used.
"Lock 'im – lock 'im in the brig?" Jack repeated, incredulously. "Elizabeth, I think we can all agree that this would go much more smoothly if there was no lockin' of anyone in the brig."
Elizabeth pretended to consider. "All right," she conceded. "Untie him. But only because he looks so helpless hanging there upside down."
"I'll show you helpless," Jack grumbled as his two 'guards' made quick work of the knots. They stepped back, and he tumbled head first to the deck. "Oy!"
James burst into giggles. Jack glared at him fiercely, jamming his hat back on his head. "Watch it, whelp." He looked to Elizabeth. "Recruitin' 'em a bit early, don't you think, love?"
Elizabeth's smile broadened, and she gave her son a push forward. "Jack Sparrow, I'd like you to meet William James Turner. James, say hello to your Uncle Jack."
O
By the time he turned nine, James could successfully swab a deck, carry on a conversation in rapid Chinese, and talk his way out of nearly any situation he cared to get himself into.
His education was haphazard at best, Elizabeth teaching him most of the traditional lessons she felt he ought to know while the rest of the crew (to her eternal dismay and amusement) went about filling in where they thought it necessary. He was a precocious child, always asking questions – reminding Elizabeth of herself at a young age – which got him into more trouble any mother could be completely comfortable with.
On the rare occasions that Jack Sparrow's path crossed their own (three visits, two quests, and half a dozen rescue missions), the flamboyant pirate taught him how to cheat at cards, pick locks and pockets alike, and, somewhat inadvertently, how to out-swindle the sneakiest of pirates, including Jack himself.
On the still rarer occurrences when they saw Captain Teague, the older pirate went about teaching James everything there was to know about the Pirates' Code. On one of his own irregular visits, Barbossa, in true pirate fashion, contradicted these teachings directly, informing James that they were to be treated as guidelines, not rules.
Elizabeth sat back and watched it all from a distance, stepping in whenever a "lesson" became too morally questionable, a tale too gruesome, or a demonstration a touch too realistic. Aside from the regular lessons in mathematics and history, she taught him proper grammar and how to handle a sword, as well as the merits of good manners and bathing regularly.
She only hoped it would be enough.
O
The journey back to their island, as Elizabeth liked to call it in her head, was a short one, despite the fact that along the way they got lost twice and engaged in a minor scuffle with a merchant ship somewhere off the coast of Tortuga.
After ten long years of waiting, she reasoned, a few weeks were nothing.
Still, with less than an hour to go, standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, Elizabeth felt that time could not go quickly enough. She clutched James' hand tightly, palms moist with perspiration. Her senses seemed sharper than usual; even with the iron chest resting at her feet, she fancied she could hear the dull thumpthump of Will's heart, beating in time with her own. She sucked in an impatient breath.
Nearly there.
"Will Father be pleased to see me?" James asked quietly, a nervous quality to his voice that hadn't been present for years. "Will he know who I am?"
"The instant he lays eyes on you," Elizabeth promised, giving his hand a firm squeeze. At her feet, Will's heart continued to beat.
Thumpthump. Thumpthump.
A breeze stirred the water below, rippling the tide as it lapped gently at the shore. Beside her, very quietly, James began to sing.
A flash of green light on the horizon.
Elizabeth smiled.
O
Will had come home.
Fin