A/N: This is a little something I wrote when the idea came to me after watching The Black Pearl. I've always wondered how Elizabeth's mother died, so this fanfic was born. Please enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own POTC.
The sound of Elizabeth's laughter filled Weatherby Swann with joy. The young girl picked up her skirts and petticoats and raced un-ladylike for the waves that crashed to the beach. Instead of chiding her, the Governor decided to let his daughter have her fun. After all, one was only young once, and having just a bit of freedom as a child before putting decorum as a young adult first would never hurt.
It was a warm, pleasant night in Port Royal. A soft breeze blew through the evening air, bringing with it the soothing scent of the sea and salt. It was a relief from the stifling humidity that the afternoons brought.
Weatherby was content to enjoy the wonderful evening with his wife Madeline by his side. She held lightly to his arm and was smiling fondly after their rebellious daughter. There was a twinkle in her eyes that was always present when she was content or happy.
Weatherby wondered what went through her mind just then. Her dark brown eyes had always been so enigmatic that often he couldn't read them. But Madeline wasn't one for keeping things in, and would often vent out all she thought to him at the end of the days: rather it be what had transpired that day at the market, or what trouble or mischief their daughter had gotten into. The Governor always looked forward to those times. He sometimes thought that he was the only one who would listen intently to Madeline as she chattered on, but perhaps that was because he never interrupted her.
Ah, Madeline, who had the same high-spirit as Elizabeth. Weatherby was lucky to have her. Each day was a blessing, waking up next to her and seeing her warm smile. Weatherby knew that if he wouldn't have had her by his side for the twelve years he had been married to her, he wouldn't have been able to make it this far. With his wife, his heart was whole, and they both always leaned upon each other for strength.
Of course, it hadn't always been blissful. Their marriage had been an arranged match. Weatherby had been good friends with Madeline's father, and the aging man had only wanted the best for his only child. Being a widow, Lord Nicolas wanted his daughter married before the illness that was taking over him completely took the breath from his body.
Weatherby smiled at the memory of when he first met Madeline. My, but the woman had been a spitfire. She'd given him grief in their first year of marriage, with her rebellious streak and stubbornness that outmatched anyone he'd ever known. Weatherby loved her for that. And it was obvious that Elizabeth, who had been born a year later after the marriage, had inherited her mother's flamboyant personality.
Weatherby's gaze wandered to his daughter then. The young girl was happily splashing through the waves with the zestful energy only a youth could possess. Her skirts were soaked through with water despite her attempt to hold them up. Her hair was now a tangled mess of curls, but despite her disheveled appearance she looked so carefree and happy that to shatter it by reprimanding her would have pained Weatherby.
"Oh dear," Weatherby muttered, shaking his head. "What are we to do with the child?"
Madeline squeezed his hand gently in her warm one. "Let her run free," she said in a murmur that was gentle and soothing. "Soon our girl will be a young lady and will be looked upon by society to act as one. There will not be as much freedom then."
"You are right, my dear." Weatherby brought Madeline's hand up to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "I am lucky to have both of you."
Madeline laughed softly. "Yes, though the trouble we must give you!"
"Perhaps you might be a handful," Weatherby said in a teasing tone. "But I love you none-the-less."
Elizabeth's squeal brought both her parent's attention to her. The young girl was running wildly along the sand now, looking as carefree as ever. Her dress was blowing carelessly around her legs in a tangle of petticoats and skirts. She certainly looked a sight. Weatherby tried to hide his smile, but he couldn't. There was something about watching his daughter that made him feel youthful again.
"Ah, to be a child again," Weatherby sighed. "The burdens that come with adulthood have me hoping our dear girl does not grow up too soon."
Madeline squeezed his hand again. "She will grow up to be a strong woman. I am certain of that," she said.
The parents watched their daughter in silence. It was getting dark now, but Weatherby didn't want to spoil the evening by calling Elizabeth to come. A few more minutes wouldn't hurt.
"Mother, come feel the water under your feet," Elizabeth called merrily. She waved her hands, beckoning wildly.
Madeline laughed at her daughter's enthusiasm. "Alright, dear one," she said. Weatherby let his wife go and watched in amusement as she picked up her skirts and headed through the sand, barefooted, to Elizabeth. The two looked like quite a pair as they stood there, the sunset casting a glow upon them like they were angels sent from the heavens above.
Weatherby felt another sigh leave him. It was a sigh of content and happiness. He couldn't remember a better time to spend with his little family than now. It was as if all that mattered in this moment was cherishing the time he had with them.
But things could change rapidly in the blink of an eye.
It was suddenly that Madeline collapsed onto the sand, as if her legs had given out from under her. Weatherby felt his heart drop in his chest as he hastily rushed to her side. He could barely hear Elizabeth's cries as he knelt down next to Madeline. Her face was as pale as the moon that was beginning to come out to replace the sun's radiant light. Weatherby took her hand in his; it was cold and clammy.
"Madeline," he exclaimed, trying to keep the panic from his voice.
"Father, is she alright?" Elizabeth asked franticly. She was clinging fervently to her mother's other hand.
"I do not know, Elizabeth." Weatherby glanced up into his daughter's face and the fear in her eyes was enough to make his heart clench painfully. "Go send someone for a doctor," he ordered calmly.
"Yes, Father." Elizabeth jumped to her feet and took off running toward the Swann residence, her skirts flying around her wildly.
Weatherby carefully scooped up Madeline's limp body in his arms and followed Elizabeth. His heart was pounding in his chest with worry. He feared the worst for his wife.
"Weatherby?" Madeline whispered. She lifted her head faintly up.
"Madeline," Weatherby said hoarsely. "Everything is going to be alright, my dear."
Madeline rested her head heavily back down on his shoulder, her movements weak. "I believe you."
Weatherby didn't feel reassured.
Two tedious hours later, while seated in Elizabeth's bedchamber awaiting for the doctor to tell them the news, Weatherby could only try his best to comfort Elizabeth. The poor young girl was in a state of utter worry for her mother. Her head was resting on his knee as she sat on the floor, her legs tucked under her. Her cheeks were stained with tear-tracks from crying. Weatherby closed his eyes and leaned back in the arm-chair. He was weary, but he wouldn't allow sleep to take him.
It was suddenly that Doctor Mason came into the room, looking sullen. The older man cleared his throat quietly to get the Governors's attention. Weatherby glanced quickly up, hoping for good news, but knowing that he might get quite the opposite. The look on the doctor's face made his doubts begin to rise suddenly, like the crest of a wave.
"Governor Swann," Doctor Mason said quietly. "May I speak to you alone?"
"Of course." Weatherby stood gently, trying his best not to wake his daughter. He wrapped his coat around her shoulders, then joined the doctor outside the door. "Well?" he prompted once they were alone. "Is everything alright?"
Doctor Mason sighed a weary sigh. "Governor Swann, I am entirely not certain of your wife's condition, but I believe it must have been developing unbeknownst for some time," he said carefully. "It would be in Mistress Swann's best interest to remain bedridden. She is very ill."
Weatherby felt his heart sink at those words. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and fought to keep his composure in tact. "Is there anything you can do, doctor?" he asked.
"I'm terribly sorry, but there's nothing much that can be done for her," the doctor said regretfully. "For her pain, I gave her a dose of laudanum."
"Pain?" Weatherby echoed hoarsely.
"Mistress Swann is in discomfort from her sudden illness." Doctor Mason took out a glass bottle containing laudanum from his bag and handed it to the governor. A look of compassion was in his eyes. "I will return next evening. If there is anything in which you shall need sooner, send for me immediately."
With that, the doctor left.
Weatherby tried to regain some of his composure before he went to see his wife. He felt weak at his knees. The news that the doctor had given him was what he had dreaded. His fears that he would lose his wife were suddenly becoming a reality, one which he didn't wish to face.
What would he do without Madeline? What would Elizabeth do without her mother?
Stricken with sadness, Weatherby sighed and stepped into the room that the doctor had just vacated. His gaze fell onto the bed, where Madeline was lying. His wife looked pale. Her brow was creased as if she were in some amount of pain, but was trying so hard to bear it. It pained Weatherby to see her in this state. With a soft sigh, he walked over to the bed.
Madeline opened her eyes. A weak smile came upon her lips. "Weatherby," she said in a hoarse murmur that sounded strained. "Is Elizabeth alright?"
Weatherby took his wife's clammy hand in his. "She is fine, my dear," he answered. "She is very worried about you. So am I."
Madeline reached out and gently pressed her hand to his cheek. "Release your worries. I shall be fine."
Weatherby shook his head, wanting to believe her words, but finding it difficult. "The doctor informed me that you are very ill."
Madeline sighed softly. "Then cherish what time you have left with me," she said, her voice a choked whisper.
Weatherby wanted so bad to deny what both of them knew—that Madeline was dying. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be alright. But he knew in his heart that he only had so long until his wife slipped away from him.
Weatherby had to swallow the emotion that suddenly clogged his throat with fierce intensity.
"We will get by," Madeline murmured, stroking his cheek. "Stand by me, love. I need your strength in these last moments."
"You shall have it, my dear," Weatherby said. He placed his hand on top of hers. "I will be by your side until the end."
Madeline closed her eyes and visibly swallowed. "I know."
It seemed as if Madeline would get better. By the end of the next week, she was sitting in the garden, watching Elizabeth as the young girl ran about with her normal energy that never seemed to cease. Her cheeks regained a bit of color to them, which was an improvement from the pallor her complexion had taken from her illness. Weatherby was filled with hope at his wife's improvement. He prayed that she would get better and that their lives would return to normal.
But then the bouts of pain and fever started. At night, Madeline would awake from sleep, her breathing labored in pain, her forehead damp with perspiration. Her fever would soar high until she was too weak to move. It was these times that Weatherby knew she wasn't going to recover.
But he stood by her side through it all, giving her the strength she needed. And as painful as it was to watch Madeline fade away, Weatherby kept strong if only for her.
Soon, Madeline could no longer leave the bed. She lost too much weight, and her clothes hung off her immensely. Her cheekbones were now gaunt, and her eyes were sunken with dark shadows beneath them. But through it all, she kept a smile on her face. Weatherby knew she did for the sake of him and Elizabeth.
One fateful night, Weatherby knew Madeline was slipping away. She could no longer sit up in bed, and her breathing was shallow. She was so weak from her prolonged sickness that she no longer could hide her pain. The finale hours of her life were fading so quickly, so alarmingly, that Weatherby was distraught. But he would not waste these precious last moments. Weatherby called Elizabeth to her mother's side, as he feared Madeline wouldn't make it through the night.
The time to say goodbye was here.
"Hold . . . my hand, Elizabeth," Madelina murmured weakly. Elizabeth grasped her mother's hand fiercely. Tears were streaming down her face like the rain that poured from the moonless sky.
"I don't want you to leave, Mother," Elizabeth cried. "Please . . . ."
Madeline swallowed visibly, and Weatherby knew the pain she felt now was for him and Elizabeth. "Remember this, dear one. I will . . . always love you." Madeline closed her eyes and a look of pain crossed her features. "I love both . . . you and your father. I want you to remember."
"I will," Elizabeth sobbed. She threw herself over her mother, crying fiercely, inconsolably.
Weatherby could not keep his own tears from falling. He sat down on the edge of the bed and grasped Madeline's other hand in his own. His grip was firm, as if he just held on, Madeline wouldn't slip away from him.
The memories that they shared until now went flashing by. They seemed to fuel Weatherby's sadness as he remembered all the times he shared with his wife. There had been wonderful times; times that were hard, but they still got through because they had each other; times that were filled with sadness—and most of all, the love they had.
"Weatherby . . . ." Madeline said in a barely audible whisper. Weatherby squeezed his wife's hand to let her know he was listening. "I love you."
Madeline closed her eyes. A tear slid down her cheek, but she was smiling. She was still smiling as she took her last breath and the life left her body. Weatherby knew she was in a better place now. Her pain was no longer tormenting her.
She was free.
It was several weeks before Weatherby could become himself again. Of course, he was no longer whole; he had lost half of himself when Madeline died. But Elizabeth needed him to be strong, and he knew Madeline wouldn't want him to spend the rest of his life mourning for her.
He had a daughter to raise.
But Elizabeth wasn't quite herself, either. She had become more subdued and quite. Weatherby was worried for her, and heaven help him, he didn't know what to do to help his daughter. All he could give her was his love for her, and arms to fall into when she needed comforting in these painful days of sorrow.
On this particular night, Weatherby was strolling along the beach with his daughter by his side. It was warm and balmy, a faint breeze drifting gently through the humid air, like a soft caress. Elizabeth, who usually would be running along the edge of the water, remained by her father's side, a solemn look upon her face.
"Mother is still with us," she said suddenly, her voice thoughtful. "We just cannot see her."
Weatherby smiled at his daughter's words, which sounded too wise for a girl of her age. "Yes. She is with us in spirit, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth squeezed his hand. "I love you, Father," she muttered.
Weatherby squeezed her hand back as a wave of emotions washed over him. "I love you, too, Elizabeth."
And as father and daughter stood side-by-side in the waning light, watching the waves crash to shore, Weatherby felt that his wife really was nearby in spirit. He could feel her touch in the breeze; hear her voice with every crash of the waves; see her smile in the sky that stretched for endless miles.
And for the first time since her death, he felt truly at peace with the world.