Author's Note: This is a story based on At World's End, a film I found unsatisfying. I'd have forgiven everything if Will and Elizabeth had ended up truly together at the end, but as they really didn't, and Elizabeth was doomed to spend her life alone, seeing Will maybe 4 to 6 times before dying of old age and leaving Will to live for all eternity remembering the less than a week of married life he had enjoyed…and outliving a son he could never know…well…that just stinks.

So…I wanted to rewrite it. Problem was that the original is so chaotic, that things just got more and more complicated. I've solved what I could, but maybe one day, I'll take another crack at it and pare down the supernatural. For now, though, this is what I came up with.

Please review. I'm not above begging.

Beyond World's End by Ecri

It was a good day, Beckett decided as he stared at the bag Norrington had brought to him knowing what was inside and savoring the moment when he was so near to achieving all that he desired. It mattered little that it was Norrington and not Turner or Swann who brought this to him. If anything, Norrington would be useful; an added benefit. Norrington would be reinstated, perhaps promoted, and he would owe this to Beckett. He allowed himself a ghost of a smile. The pieces were now all in place. He could begin the game in earnest.

His memory tossed some moments to him...moments of past betrayals and he relished each one. He had managed to achieve a great deal and he had never himself been betrayed. No, the role of betrayer was one he assumed all too well. It was as much a game as his machinations, to find the chink in the armor, the one thing he could hold over another person. Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann had been simple. All you had to do to control one was threaten the other. It was hardly worth his effort. Norrington had been slightly better. His pride had been his downfall.

Sparrow...ah, Sparrow had been a tough nut to crack for much the same reason the compass rarely worked for him. His wants changed with the wind. You never did know just what he would care about, and oddly, neither did he. That was why the Captain was so often frustrated.

Beckett brought his eyes up to meet Norrington's. "I will dispatch a letter to London immediately reinstating your commission and promoting you to Admiral."

Norrington's shock almost showed upon his face, but the man was a trained British Officer, and was certainly up to the task of appearing stoic and unshakable.

Beckett continued, allowing the smallest of smirks to cross his face so Norrington would be aware that he had seen the brief moment before the Admiral's stoic mask had slipped into place. "You will command the Endeavor for me, James, and together we will rid the world of pirates."

Yes, Norrington was easy, for his desire to eradicate the pirates would blind him to the method until it was all over. Once that was done, Norrington might well fall apart...the guilt would be too much for him. Especially once he realized that Swann and Turner, thanks to their strange loyalty to Sparrow, would find their lives forfeit as well. Yes, for a good man like Norrington, what Beckett was about to do could only cause guilt.

It was, Beckett thought, a very good day, indeed.

**

Will stared at Elizabeth noting that, though her toast claimed Jack was a good man, she'd been unable to drink to that. I've lost her. What else could he think after seeing that kiss? He wracked his brain to discover when he had lost her...what he had done or had not done...to determine if the love she'd said she felt for him had been a lie. She loves Jack. The realization hit him hard. His heart had been hers from the moment they'd met. He had loved her, worried over her, and lived to see a glimpse of her smile. She was nowhere close to smiling now, and even in his own torment, realizing that she loved another, he could not bear to see her so distraught. He rose, taking a hesitant half step to her speaking as if they were alone and there was no distance, physical or emotional, between them. "If anything could be done to bring him back... Elizabeth..."

Tia Dalma's voice rang our loudly bringing the attention of everyone to her. "Would you do it? Hmmm? What... would you? Hmmm? What would *any* of you be willing to do? Hmmm? Would you sail to the ends of the eart', and beyond to fetch back witty Jack and 'im precious Pearl?"

Will kept his eyes on Elizabeth. He heard the others agreeing wholeheartedly and without hesitation...an odd thing among pirates...to save Jack. When Elizabeth added her own small, tearful "yes," Tia Dalma's gaze fell on him. He agreed immediately. His goal was Elizabeth's happiness. It had always been and would always be, even if her happiness was his sorrow. "Aye," he said staring now at Tia Dalma, who seemed to recognize the pain in his eyes, though she did not mention it.

Tia Dalma smiled. "Alright. But if you're goin' brave de weird, and haunted shores, at world's end, den... you will need a captain who knows dose waters." She turned, her eyes blazing with some knowledge and purpose Will could not name. He turned confused eyes in the direction of the stairs, and beheld a dead man walking.

"So tell me, what's become of my ship?" Barbossa laughed as he took a bite of an apple and Jack the monkey raced to perch upon his shoulder.

Will turned to Tia Dalma. "How is this possible?"

"Many tings be possible for de right reasons, Will Turner."

"Reason did not bring him back from the dead." He faced Barbossa. "Why should we follow you?"

Barbossa's smile did not slip as he closed the distance between himself and Will. "We have a common goal, lad, and I be going on this voyage with ye or alone."

Will's eyes narrowed for a moment and he stepped closer still to the man who had once tried to kill him and Elizabeth...and Jack. They widened then and his deep brown eyes held fast to Barbossa's as if he tried to read the thoughts behind the other mans less lustrous eyes. His voice was a whisper. "You tried to kill Jack. You tried to kill all of us. Why would you want to bring him back now?"

Barbossa glanced to Tia Dalma, then shrugged and physically tore himself away from Will, putting distance between them. "Jack and I have business to attend to."

Will would have pursued this further, but Tia Dalma prevented it. "Dis is no easy task. Plannin' is required. You have what 'elp I can give you, but know dis; World's End is troubled water and the way to get there, let alone to travel through and find 'im you seek will be treacherous." She crossed to a table and opened a book. It contained charts and notes but Will could make no sense of it. "Dis is yours, Captain." She handed the tome to Barbossa and Will thought he could sense an unspoken exchange between the two. Things were fast growing out of control and he was beginning to feel as he had when Jack persuaded him to do something he didn't want to do...like visit the Flying Dutchman on his behalf.

In moments, plans were being made and Gibbs was talking to Barbossa, deferring to the man as his captain. Everyone spoke at once, and Will felt he was in the eye of some maelstrom. Even Elizabeth seemed to hang on Barbossa's words, desperation to save Jack forcing her to accept him as her captain.

"We have no ship." Will said just loud enough to cut through the cacophony of words.

"I will supply dat." Tia Dalma whispered, smiling her blackened-tooth smile.

Will wondered at this. How did Tia Dalma have access to a ship that would suit their purposes? Was it possible she was wealthy? He shook his head, unable to come to any satisfactory explanation, and his gaze was drawn once again to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth would not look him in the eye, and when he moved to catch her arm, she sidestepped him and followed the crew and Barbossa out to the dinghies in which they'd arrived. He wanted to speak to her. He needed to speak to her. Words unuttered jammed his throat making a lump he could neither swallow nor ignore. He tried to maneuver himself to sit in the same dinghy with her, but found himself instead next to Tia Dalma. She smiled at him and her attentions reminded Will of their first meeting. Jack had been quick enough to step between Tia Dalma and himself at the time, as though he believed the woman's interest was precursor to some undesirable end. As usual, Jack never explained, though even if he had, Will doubted it would have been the entire truth.

At the time, as they'd made their way to see the voodoo priestess, Will had wondered who Jack needed to see and worried that they wasted time. His thoughts had centered on Elizabeth in a cell in Port Royal and to find he was in some backwater shack with a small woman whom Jack knew yet who hadn't slapped him on sight failed to make an impression at the time.

Jack had known her though. They'd greeted each other like old friends, and she hadn't reached for some weapon with which to kill him.

"Jack Sparrow!" Tia Dalma called, smiling happily.

"Tia Dalma!" Jack returned.

"I always know de wind was goin' blow you back to me one day." Then she'd seen Will, and had approached him a look in her eyes much like the one she'd worn since they'd climbed into these dinghies to make their way to the ship she would provide. It seemed almost feral, seductive, and even a touch disturbing as Will realized that Tia Dalma, much like Jack Sparrow, had a hidden agenda.

"You. You have a touch of... destiny about *you*, William Turner."

Will had been confused once more, and realized that was his natural state when traveling with Jack Sparrow. "You know me?"

"You want to know *me*." The way she'd said it was so full of confidence, of certain knowledge...but he could not think what she meant, nor did he have time to ask as Jack interrupted, placing himself somehow between them as some sort of barrier.

"There'll be no knowing here. We've come for help and we're not leaving without it." Then, almost an afterthought, he whispered to her. "I thought *I* knew you.

"Not so well as I had hoped. Come."

What, Will wondered, had any of that meant, and why was she so interested in him now? What destiny could she possibly believe touched him? He shook off the thoughts and did his best to ignore her presence as his eyes sought Elizabeth. She was in the next dinghy and her eyes were downcast, tears brimming in them, though when she sensed him staring, she dashed a hand across her face and pretended they hadn't been there.

Tia Dalma's ship was not far, and by morning they were ready to make way. Before they could shove off, however, Will wanted to make one thing clear. "No secrets, Barbossa." He stood his ground, head raised and eyes blazing in determination. "You will tell us all what the plan is and we will decide how best to bring it about."

Barbossa met determination with fury. "That's not how it works, boy!"

Will would not be intimidated. He'd long ago moved past that. "That's how this works. We're in this together for the 'common goal' of bringing Jack back."

Barbossa was about to argue, his hand slipping to his sword hilt, when Tia Dalma intervened. "We sail for Singapore. There rest the charts we goin' need for dis journey. The maps showin' World's End."

"You speak in riddles. How can a map show World'd End?" Elizabeth demanded, and Will was glad of it, for she hadn't spoken since she'd agreed to go and search for Jack.

Tia Dalma's eyes blazed. "De world is not all you see. You should know dat by now. Dere be many tings you do not understand, and many dat would frighten even one such as you who 'as seen de undead and 'as faced de Flying Dutchman."

Will stepped between the two, not liking the threat in Tia Dalma's eyes and tone. He would play his role as Elizabeth's protector because without that self-appointed task, he wasn't sure who he was. "We sail for Singapore...and then what?"

The plan was simple, and yet risky beyond belief. They discussed and adjusted details as they made their way to Singapore, and Will wondered what he was doing. There was more going on here than just a rescue. Why would Tia Dalma and Captain Barbossa try to save Jack? For that matter, why was the crew so willing? They had demonstrated before that they could stick to the code and leave their mates behind with hardly a thought. Was this loyalty to Jack, or was there something else going on here?

His eyes fell on Tia Dalma, and his uneasiness grew. He had never believed in witchcraft, but perhaps she held some sway on the crew. To get what she most wanted, had she cast some spell so they would think they wanted the same? Did she have that kind of power? She noticed his gaze and came to his side, smiling charmingly. "A touch of destiny about you, William Turner."

He smiled though it did not reach his eyes. "So you've said, though I don't know what you mean."

"You 'ave a destiny...one that is bigger den you imagine."

"I...imagine...that's true of a lot of people."

She shook her head. "Very few. Jack Sparrow knew it when 'im meet you. 'im know who you are."

Will would not be convinced. "I am of little consequence to Jack. Or to you."

"Do not say such tings, William Turner. You are more important den you tink."

"Since we met, I've felt you want something from me. What is it?"

She smiled at him and rested a hand on his cheek, caressing it sadly, and Will felt something stir within him. "Now is not de time. It be 'ere soon enough. If I 'ad but met you years ago...tings might be different."

He caught her wrist as she moved to caress him again, and he shook his head as though to clear it from some fog. "Whatever it is you think of me or my destiny, I have but one goal here."

She laughed then, taking her hand from him. "You sure of dat, Mr. Turner?" She laughed heartily as she strolled away.

**

Caribbean nights seemed long and otherwordly compared to London. Lit by the brilliant moon and the scattering of stars, scented with blossoms and salt air, alive with the sound of the surf lapping at the white sands, there was a certain moment of the night that seemed magic; that led one to assume anything was possible. Daylight would chase the euphoria away, but night fed it and groomed it and made promises with it.

Port Royal stood proud and beautiful, a glittering gem among the blue waters of the Caribbean. The waves lapped lazily upon moonlit sands, and the salt tinge to the air clung to noses and lips. It was a happier place than London.

Weatherby Swann had hoped it would be as he'd pictured it all those years ago, when, grieving for his lost wife, he thought taking the post in the Caribbean would cheer his daughter. It wasn't until halfway through the voyage that he'd begun to wonder if ripping Elizabeth from the only home she'd ever known had been a less than prudent idea. He'd watched her carefully for the rest of the trip for some sign of melancholy or worse.

Elizabeth had surprised him, however, dispelling his fears and embracing life in the Caribbean with perhaps more gusto than Society might approve. He'd given her latitude in respect for her own grief, and knowing that he could offer her little guidance, as her mother would have, in the proper behavior of young ladies in British Society. He'd had her schooled and trained, of course. There were several good families in the Caribbean; solid, dependable, Britons who loved Queen and Country and had brought as much of the homeland with them as it was possible to transplant so many miles away. They didn't lack for a good cup of tea, though he would reluctantly admit that drinking it was sometimes difficult in the warmest months.

Even with these homey comforts, Elizabeth would insist on running everywhere when she was a young girl. She would read about pirates and ask about them every chance she got. At balls and parades and commemorative galas, she would seek out the newest arrival and demand to know if they'd run into pirates on the way to Port Royal, or if they'd heard any tales on their voyage. Even if they had no answers for her, she would plead for speculation until many of the partygoers were making up the most ludicrous adventures just to see the precocious child laugh and clap her hands in delight.

This had changed but gradually. Eventually Elizabeth took her position as the Lady of the Governor's Mansion seriously, and began to dote on her father, planning menus and parties as propriety demanded, and becoming a charming hostess. The parties and balls and fetes at the Governor's Mansion became events not to be missed. The Social Calendar of Port Royal had gained much when Elizabeth became involved. No detail was forgotten. No guest was overlooked. To be invited at all was considered an indication of one's importance. To refuse was unheard of.

He could recall with perfect clarity the first event she'd planned. She'd worried and fretted over every detail. The guest list was done weeks ahead of time. The invitations she hand-lettered herself. The menu was discussed and rearranged until the cook had nearly quit, but in the end, it had been a sumptuous affair. The decorations, the tables laden with food, and Elizabeth, in her most formal gown shipped from Paris expressly for the occasion…the guests had been amazed, stunned that such a young girl, all of 14, had managed it all and had outshone young women many years older.

He had been so proud of her. He'd basked in the praise as if it were his own. The families of several young men had come to him that night requesting permission to court her, but whether because she was his only child, or because they both still felt the loss of his wife so keenly, he had declined, insisting she must be sixteen at the least before he'd consider any suitor.

When the time had come to admit that his daughter must one day take a husband, she had refused to permit any of the finest lads to court her. He realized now just why that was. She'd lost her heart to William Turner before they'd ever set foot in Port Royal. He considered that. The cabin boy, for at the time, that's what he'd assumed Will Turner to be. What had she seen in that bedraggled, half-drowned, half-starved waif?

He considered that it was that he'd been shipwrecked and in need of care and attention. Girls had a motherly instinct even at the youngest of ages. Weatherby Swann recalled Elizabeth mothering a poor, half-dead cat when she'd been no more than two-years-old.

Perhaps that had been it. When, he wondered, had Will Turner begun to reciprocate those feelings? He suspected it was fairly early on. The boy had come to his senses a day or two after being fished from the sea like so much debris, and once he was up and about, he was rarely far from Elizabeth. Will, however, had a sense of his place. He did not overstep his bounds, even at Elizabeth's most ardent coaxing unless she managed to cajole him at a particularly weak moment. He'd overheard them speaking once, and though at first it was accidental, he'd taken full advantage of the situation and eavesdropped with the long-practice of a courtier.

"You're so sad, Will."

"I'm homesick, Miss Swann."

"Elizabeth," she'd insisted, though Weatherby had been gratified when the boy hadn't given in.

"Miss Elizabeth Swann," the boy corrected himself.

"Why are you homesick," Elizabeth asked, apparently unwilling to go back and forth over the proper way to address her. "Aren't you excited to be starting a new life in Port Royal?"

The boy was silent for a moment, and Weatherby had to strain to hear his reply so softly was it whispered. "I miss my mum."

"Y-your mum?" Elizabeth's voice had quivered and Weatherby almost left the secluded alcove where he listened to scoop her into his arms and cuddle her until neither of them hurt again.

"She died." Will confessed.

"Mine, too."

When Weatherby risked a peek, they were sitting silently staring at the sea and holding hands. Elizabeth broke the silence first. "Why did you decide to go to Port Royal?"

Weatheby himself had wondered how the boy had managed it.

"My mum told me just before she died to find my father. He's a merchant sailor out of the Caribbean."

"Are you to become a merchant sailor, too?" Her love of pirates seemed to make this an almost romantic notion.

The boy only shrugged. "I don't know what choice I'll have about it one way or the other."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not apprenticed. If I can't find my father, I wont be able to afford an apprenticeship at all. I have no money. I lost what little I had aboard the ship."

"You could join the Royal Navy."

"Don't know that they'd have me."

"Of course they will!"

Weatherby Swann had left them then as Elizabeth resumed the role of confidant and comforter. That was when he'd decided to make things right for the boy. HIs heart went out to Turner. He'd lost his mother. Just like Elizabeth. What, he wondered, would Elizabeth have done if she'd lost her mother and father? What if she had not been born to privilege? Where--how--would she have ended up?

The Governor sighed heavily bringing himself out of these memories with a great effort. Elizabeth was his life and her absence was like a knife through his heart. Where could she be? He could only hope she still lived. He was calmed, however minutely, by the thought that Will Turner, whatever his many faults, would protect her with his life. Of course, that would require that they find each other. He smiled at the thought. Even with a world between them, somehow, he was perfectly confident that those two would do just that.

He turned from the window and his study of the idyllic scene Port Royal presented and returned to his desk. Beckett kept him busy, though Swann was no fool. His days were numbered. Beckett would not keep him around forever. He needed to come up with...what had Elizabeth called it? Ah, yes. Leverage. What could he possibly have to offer a man like Beckett, who, by all appearances, seemed somehow to command Norrington's allegiance. Thought, from what little he knew of Norrington, it seemed it was more an allegiance to duty than to Beckett himself. Never a gregarious man, nor demonstrative, but rather an upstanding proper British Commodore, Norrington's promotion to admiral from the depths to which the man had sunk had surprised everyone. Swann himself had been no exception, but he knew the look he'd seen in Norrington's eyes. Norrington was a man who'd given his life to the Navy, and he was only now beginning to realize the cost.

Swann dismissed the thoughts. He must think of something good enough to procure Elizabeth's freedom. That was his priority. James Norrington's career was irrelevant. Will Turner's fate was out of his hands, and frankly, not his concern. He would whisk Elizabeth off to London and she would find a proper suitor there, settle into London society, and perhaps one day, she would marry a Lord. First, however, he had to find her. The only way to do that, he realized, was to leave Port Royal.