Many, many thanks to Southampton Rose and jedipati for betaing this!
Disclaimer: POTC belongs to Disney
It happened after the second wave of monsters swung over from the Flying Dutchman, rabid and trailing water.
The rain was cold, as insistent as the memory of a devastated face. The sky itself was weeping. Nothing was dry; nothing was untouched by Calypso's unfathomable grief.
I am such a silly girl. I thought I'd improved since my pirate-dreaming days, but no. Apparently I'm as airy in the head as ever, because when I saw Will charge the new enemies, a picture of him from long ago rose to my mind. His timid, fervent gaze that morning he delivered the sword; and oh he had been so lanky, his clothes outdated. Worst of all had been his gutless refusal to call me-
"Elizabeth!" he shouts.
Zing. How does he make my name sound so electric? How can I even think about this when a pivotal battle rages around me? I'm just a fool caught in a giant game. I should be dead by now.
I rush to his side as he is thrown against the capstan by the blow of a barnacled monster. In a flash he ducks around the larger creature and goes for the kill. When his blade stabs the monster, mine joins it. I mentally call the monster names I'd be embarrassed to say around Jack Sparrow and prepare to launch myself into the fray...again.
Then he grabs my wrist. It's not like he hasn't before, but it shocks me. Will Turner, Mr. At-Least-Once-More-Miss-Swann, just grabbed me without asking, without an ounce of caution or apology in his eyes.
Suddenly I realize I hardly know him.
"Elizabeth," he repeats, and there's something in his voice that seizes the attention of my entire being. I can feel my lips form a what but it's lost in the rush of warmth spreading over my body. He pulls me to him, rain running over his eyelashes and lean cheeks. Dark brown eyes crinkle at the corners as he says over the racket, "Will you marry me?"
I can feel cold raindrops landing on my tongue and realize my jaw is somewhere near my icy, soaked toes.
Well, about that.
He'd asked me before. He'd done it so sweetly, so...carefully. Yes, it had been very careful, as careful as our first kiss. So many rules-
A howl from the left has the audacity to break my train of thought. Will and I turn as one, raising our blades just as a prickly nightmare brings his down at us. Cradled, the enemy's blade is, between our crossed ones and for a moment, we all three strain at one another.
You know, if Jack knew about that first proposal, he'd say it proved Will was a eunuch after all. That'll put a strain on any matrimonial act, Jack'd say. Don't forget he handed you off to Norry instead of throwin' you over his shoulder and running for the nearest hard-to-find island. His unfathomable eyes would be mischievous and dead serious at the same time. I'd protest automatically, Will would never throw me over his shoulder in a million years, not even if I wanted him to. But now...I glance and see a flash of rippling chest beneath that drenched shirt, and his jaw so determined, hardened against panic that I've learned to see, even when he tries to hide it. I just don't know anymore.
My own panic rises. We could die at any instant; why make a lifelong commitment right before you're stabbed through the belly?
"I don't think now's the best time!" I cry.
Finally we heave the monster away but he growls and swipes at me; I duck, the ghostly sensation of that blade slicing me in half stinging more adrenaline into my already loaded body. I am so swollen with adrenaline I feel out of control, as if another hand guides my every move.
Which means I'm going to die soon. In the chaos, these last minutes I have, I glimpse his face.
That expression, the one he wore on our broken wedding day. In shackles he'd stood straight, face hard, almost sullen. Thwarted, deeply disappointed, with the beginnings of an iron rebellion dawning in his irises.
"Now may be the only time!" he shouts.
True, tr-
Where did this new attitude come from? I'd expect it from Jack – had gotten from Jack – this throwing reason and caution to the wind and lunging heedlessly for what is desired. But Will? No. Not the Will I thought I knew, the Will that had driven my frustrated eyes to Jack in all his free glory.
Oh, Jack. (Where are you right now anyway?) You are no sparrow. You are a parrot-flamingo-falcon cross. Flashy, unpredictable, wild, free. Indebted to everyone yet unwilling to pay. You are a sea wind. Everyone wants to catch you, to somehow bottle your nature and win you, but they can't. So they will continue to chase you. I almost could, too.
Aha, perhaps the possibility of being stabbed through the belly is the reason to make a lifelong commitment.
See what adrenaline does to you?
Two Marines charge, splitting to take each of us on. I deflect my enemy's first blow and see the surprise in his eyes right before I stab him in the belly. Grabbing his wrists, I hurl him aside so I won't have to watch him die. He is...was my countryman after all. That's it is, this killing: self defense...
Self-defense of the damned. I can feel my throat tightening as rain washes the blood from my blade. Where is the girl who was horrified by simply stabbing an un-dead Barbossa in the heart? She is gone and I am alone...
Who will redeem me? Who can?
I run toward the only person I'm beginning to realize has the power to do so, and he sees me coming. He grabs my outstretched arm and pulls me in, eyes burning with purpose that is brutal and tender at the same instant.
His lips part and those words come out... "I love you."
It's like being shoved off a cliff. What can you say? Every word created in the history of man falls flat on your tongue, and for some reason it fills you with joy.
Yes, I am addled.
Then there comes another howl from the right and Heaven shatters in the face of self-preservation. I throw myself at a monster from the Dutchman, barely able to see his eyes but feeling his dreadful purpose smart every inch of my skin.
Now, Jack. You'd probably call Will a pile of mashed potatoes without salt or butter. When he looked at me in the caves of Isla de Muerta and said, "Your fiancé will be wanting to know you're safe," I would've angrily agreed. What a boy he was, unable to see past rules. I can't blame him. Rules must have given order to his broken life-
The monster falls to my blade; my arm is burning. I whirl back toward Will, find he has the same idea, and then the boy from Isla de Muerta has my hand again. The calluses on his palm, so beloved. When he traps my eyes, I can't look away, though I am Pirate King...even if I were Empress of the World, he would have this power over me. Sometimes I understand why and sometimes I don't.
"I've made my choice," he says. "What's yours?"
I wish I were thinking something clever or touching, but mostly I think Whaaaaaa...?
You see it's not the words, it's the purpose-the beating heart-behind them, just as a kiss is not made wonderful only by a physical mouth on yours but the knowledge your mate wants it to be there, can't keep it away. If human language had fallen on its face, now it dies completely.
I hear the voice of Bootstrap Bill Turner... "You're Elizabeth!" I've never heard my name spoken with such reverence, as if it were a household name known to all. That was the very first time I realized the full extent of Will's adoration for me. The father had spoken the son's soul and it made my throat tighten wearily. I was so tired of crying.
"He won't pick me," the tortured man had said, and his resignation had been heartbreaking. "I wouldn't pick me."
I'd watched him retreat to his place in the wall, words pushing against my lips – You don't understand...Will won't pick me, either. I wouldn't pick me. Not after what I've done to his ever-faithful heart. There we'd been, both pondering our betrayal of the one person we cared for most, waiting helplessly as mortals under the authority of a god.
He thought I loved Jack. I see Will's sunburned, grimy face in the amber light of Tia's – Calypso's – hut. What a terrible time. The way he threw his knife into the table again and again, ripping splinters out as if inflicting on an outside object what he felt in his heart. And then he'd just turned and offered to help find Jack, while I, in the depths of my own misery, had had eyes for nothing but my own loss. Who does that?
Will owes me nothing, not after all I've put him through, and yet he offers himself. No wonder I can't breathe.
It's odd. Ever since this whole pirate business started, Jack has come and gone. But Will never really left. As I feel echoes of desire for a baby to hold and a safe place in which to hold it, I realize that this line, called "Dedication" is the line that separates Jack Sparrow and Will Turner. Whatever side I choose will define my entire life.
What sort of dedication does my heart need?
I see Jack, free, cavalier, and deep in the only passion worthy of him: a love affair with a wooden nymph with wings of canvas and a heart as independent as his own. The Black Pearl, trembling and heaving valiantly beneath my feet, circling this doomed arena of death without fear, challenging the Dutchman, the entire civilized British world with the war cry of her cannon, is his true lover. Even rum comes up second to the Pearl.
Could any mortal woman ever offer this utter abandon, this limbo where everything and nothing goes? Could any mortal woman ever offer this freedom that is air, water, and bread to Captain Jack Sparrow?
The world is a wide place, so, perhaps. In fact, part of me could.
But the rest of me never will. To say it honestly: I am selfish and I need a man who idolizes me, just as Jack needs every female to idolize him. Jack and I are alike that way: we need to be idols; we thrive off heedless adoration. I know I cannot be second in line to the man I marry. How's that for a painful coming-to-terms with oneself!
I remember the joy I felt when Will rose from the ink waters of the Isla de Muerta after Barbossa had hit me, rose to pluck me from the jaws of death at the last instant. I remember the bloodstains on his shirt from the lashing he'd gotten on the Dutchman. And I remember how he saved me from myself when I was ready to throw myself from the Pearl after my father, how he caught me in an embrace forged of compassion and love.
He's earned me and I'd forgotten. But now all that remains is the happy obligation to remember...and to repay.
Well then. I suppose I've decided. How strange to decide something I thought I decided years ago. Like I've stripped off that terrible corset from so long ago, I throw everything to the wind and feel my stomach drop out from under me.
"Barbossa!" I yell, staring Will in the eyes. His brow wrinkles. Grand, he thinks I've chosen Barbossa. I turn toward the quarterdeck, squinting through the rain, and see Barbossa's black form mercilessly hacking through enemies. "Marry us!"
Will's hand tightens around my arm.
Barbossa slashes a prickly monster then turns, eyes wide. "I'm a little busy at the moment!"
I feel foolish and desperate. If I die, I want Elizabeth Turner carved into my gravestone. It must happen. Will yanks me past him and I parry an attacking Marine's thrust, then stab him and let him fall.
Somewhere I hear Will bellow, "Barbossa! Now!"
Turning, I see Barbossa forcing one monster to stab another through the chest. He tosses them both aside. Resentfully, "Fine then!"
Another monster charges me and I kill him without thinking, wild to get rid of any obstacle. Yet another charges and I mentally curse him before parrying his attack and slashing him aside. Out of the way.
I glance up at Barbossa just as he clambers onto the helm and kicks a Marine in the face. Then an arm captures me from behind. I turn with a flash of panic and look straight into Will's eyes. He pulls me tight against him and I almost drop my sword.
"Dearly beloved," comes Barbossa's rough voice above the racket, "we be gathered here today...to nail your gizzard to the mast ye poxy cur!"
Will and I glance at each other. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. It seems we'll never win the enchantment we've hungered for since...well, since we first met, I suppose. And now a would-be killer is closing in again. My blood ignites. If I could only touch all these men, I feel I would scorch them with my rage. Get out of our bloody way!
Separating from Will, I duck under the Marine's first strike, hearing his blade hit Will's. I surge up, slashing, and the Marine falls. Turning, Will and I run down the deck, around the mainmast, meeting on the other side.
Drat, the fighting's just as heavy over here. But nobody's noticed us yet...we grab hands, twining our numb fingers. "Elizabeth Swann," Will says, face alight with exhilaration, swaying with the ship, "do you take me to be your husband?"
The couple marrying themselves? This is the ultimate defiant gesture to tradition, and Will has made it without hesitation, in order to become one with me. This is the man I love.
"I do!" My smiling lips cannot stretch far enough.
Did we just do that? The question zings between us, and then he exclaims, "Great!"
Hear, hear!
Someone else is howling as he comes and we dart apart, Will lunging down the deck then whirling to fight his opponent; I standing and to face my own. A few strikes that hurt my shoulder and he is thrown back. I duck around him and then I'm running back to Will and he to me.
We've transcended it all. We are unstoppable.
We clasp forearms, knowing the sand in our hourglasses is about to run out. "Will Turner, do you take me-" I know they're coming. Will does, too. We turn away and fight off two monsters, sending them stumbling away. I lift our clasped hands, heart racing, "-to be your wife…"
The corners of his mouth are curling up as he tugs me forward, twirling me under his arm so we trade places. Again we repel our enemies. Again and again my arm yanks in its socket as we fight, but Will's grip never breaks. It is a symbol of our history. Keep holding on. He tugs again, whirling us back to our original places and the maneuver allows me to take a charging Marine by surprise. "…in sickness and in health…" I shout and force the Marine to stagger away.
A new Marine charges with murder in his eyes. Suddenly I feel Will's body against my back like a wall. His arms support me as I deflect the first blow; and then his sword flashes past and catches the Marine in the chest – wham his foot hits the Marine in the gut and he goes down. Words continue to tumble from my numb lips, "...with health being the less likely…"
Three monsters charge at once and we fly into a desperate defense, stabbing and shoving and trying not to behead each other. Someone up above loves us because in the end our enemies fall and we remain standing. An arm encircles my waist and this time I am not afraid because I know whose it is. I look at Will's face and my breath catches. Though I scoffed whenever I read about "poetic eyes" in my books, I see enough passion, joy, and rhyme in Will's bright eyes to write three tomes. Every inch of me strains to hear the words he utters in a voice that seals my past and future…
"I do."
I'm going to cry again, I swear.
Then Will's arm tightens and I duck down. I feel his muscles strain over me and hear the harsh clatter of blades. When I straighten, against all the odds, I hear Barbossa's voice. "As Captain I now pronounce you-"
Two monsters coming at us from both sides. I lunge forward blade-first, leaning into Will's arm as my leg flies up. He supports me, leaning in the opposite direction to stab outward. The enemy runs straight into my blade. Straightening up, I hear Will's target thud to the deck and Barbossa's shout: "You may kiss-"
Happy thought. Will's momentum signals me to lean back, and true enough he dips me, laying me back like I'm sacred. The gentle distance he allows between our faces is maddeningly unbearable and anticipation explodes through my entire being. He's above me; I strain upward and he descends-
This would be the time when a Marine decides to howl and charge us. Will turns and with those reflexes he honed in Port Royal, he slashes the man back even as he hauls me to my feet. We separate and I face the Marine, who glares at me with water running off his hat.
This Marine represents every misunderstanding, every person, every quirk of Fate that has kept Will and me apart. Aye. And he is going down.
"You may kiss-" Barbossa is still trying. I almost feel fond of him. Frightening thought, that.
My blade tangles with the Marine's as my blood races in anger, and I send him reeling back. He won't try again.
A menacing growl comes from behind and I whirl, blade raised, realizing too late that it was only the monster Will is slashing away...and my blade is headed straight for Will's head. But somehow Will's reflexes rescue him again - his blade snaps up to catch mine above our heads. Shocked, we stare at each other, and I see his hand start reaching for me.
"Just kiss!" Barbossa yells.
I must tell you something. You can't do all the things I've done and remain unscathed. Starting with a knife in Barbossa's undead heart, I've deliberately harmed countless people and stopped bothering to look back with regret. I've mourned for people I never thought I would - Jack, my father, Norrington...it is enough grief to strangle me. This entire time has been a marathon I never asked for, a never-ending beating, and a violation of everything I thought I was when I was younger.
I look at myself and I know I've grown frost over my skin, dead, hard, numb as my lips. It was either become impenetrable or go stark raving mad. But Will, the blacksmith with his forge, lit a fire in my core that day I rescued him from the sea. It has kept me from turning to ice, even as fate has forced it to burn lower and lower. By now it is a wisp of a flame, but I can feel it growing.
It's what I want. I want a roaring blaze to char my grief and guilt. And there stands the torchbearer, William Turner, reaching for me with desire and joy in his eyes.
The rain, so cold. Death, so cruel. They have become my world. But no longer. I seize his wrist and pull us together with all my strength. I feel his arm go around my back as my hand firmly captures his neck, ear, jaw...we lock ourselves together. My ice-maiden lips meet his...
...and pure heat pours down my body and soul. My skin prickles and I feel as though I am boiling every drop of rain hitting my skin.
Then he deepens the kiss. I gasp in the scent of him and in that white-hot flash, I see his metamorphosis from boy to blacksmith to gentleman to pirate to man...and then I come full circle. I know what Will Turner is at his core.
He is a blacksmith.
Like his forge, which he never allowed to go cold, he has warmed me for years. Now he melts me with his fire and I glow as brightly as those metals he works with, my guilt and shame floating away.
He deepens the kiss even further, purging me of the last ugly secrets I don't want to keep. Like he transformed those lumps of pig iron with deft skill, so he is lovingly re-forming me into something I never thought I could be.
Exultation. Because-
Living or dying
Laughing or crying
I am Elizabeth Turner.
At last.
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