Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean... there, now that's out of the way.
A/N: Almost a year ago I wrote a piece called 'Will' (original title, huh?) I got around forty-something reviews, pretty good, I guess, for my first fanfic. I had this pretty good idea for a sequel, though it follows a more historical account of the early 1700's (no undead pirates or Aztec gods, sorry:-). It is classified as action/romance and stuff, though the action won't start until maybe around chapter 10, but I'm going for character development at the beginning, so I hope that's okay. I am currently in need of a beta reader, not just for grammar b/c I think I have a pretty good handle on the technical stuff, but in the sense of an older, more experienced writer giving me tips on character relations and better writing technique. (by older, I mean college-level or a VERY experienced and acclaimed high school upperclassman fanfiction/fiction writer. I think my email is on my profile, but if it isn't, just leave a signed review at the end of this chapter and I'll get back to you. Thanks!
Chapter 1
It had been a hard day at the forge, and Will needed a bath-and sleep, but as he passed the wrought iron gates of the governor's mansion and saw her light in the upper window, he stopped. His feet immediately complained, having been standing in hard soles on a dirt floor for twelve hours ceaselessly, and he shifted from foot to foot to ease the swelling. His eyes fixated on the delicate fluttering of her curtain in the breeze. Her silhouette was feathery against the cloth, and he watched the dimness of her movements in complete rapture.
Her hair was bound up, but soon he saw her arm raise up, and the shadow of her curls rippling to her shoulders fell across the 'screen'. He drew in his breath sharply, and turned away from the window. Movement caught his attention, and he looked again to see her pulling the curtain away to gaze across the courtyard.
Moonlight filtered through the thin cloud covering, and it fell upon her, wrapped in her dressing gown and free of corsets, pins, and propriety. Will stepped into the black shadow that a tree cast. He was not prepared for her to speak to him yet. He shifted his eyes to the moon. There had been a time not so long past when he feared it, for it reminded him of a thing which almost took that which was most precious to him. Now he thought it the most beautiful substance on earth, as it shone upon his beloved.
He looked down at his grubby shoes and clothing. He was a fool for such musings, and a romantic fool at that. He didn't deserve her; for all that she had lowered herself to taking his name before she even realized she desired it. Or stood up against men with the power to take her life and prevailed, all for the fact that she would give her life for him, and he the same.
Soft strains of song floated from the window; Will heard it, and a smile came to his wearied face. So, she still dared to sing it. She still held to the hope that one day she would be free from the trappings of governor's daughter, sailing on the open sea. He sighed and stepped from his hiding place to the silvered street. She saw him, and did not speak, but she stood very erect in the window, and her face bore incertitude coupled with yearning.
Will resignedly turned and walked to where he leaned against the gate, the metal cool under his fingers, and he gazed up the black shafts absentmindedly to admire the handiwork. Elizabeth's curtain closed, and he heard her moving through the house as she made for the exit. The door opened, and he heard the faint sound of a wracking cough, then the door closed and she was there behind the gate, clothed only in her night shift and dressing gown.
They did not speak, but both were very close to one another, the only barrier being the gate. Her eyes were reproachful, stating the evident. As he stepped closer and took the sleeve of her robe in his fingers, the expression changed, and he knew she had missed him acutely.
"Must I say what is plain for eyes to see?" She said softly, grasping the warm wrist on her sleeve. His skin was soft here, compared to the thick roughness of his blacksmith's hands-- soft and full of feeling that relaxed him.
"Nay," He replied. "I have not been attending to matters more urgent than business deals." His breath caught in his throat, and he lowered his deep voice even more, "Matters of the heart."
Elizabeth nodded, and leaned against the gate, the cold iron biting her skin. They fell silent, their eyes probing the others'. Will laid a hand on her cheek, his fingers laying flat, then curling slightly in a motion that reminded Elizabeth of how a cat kneaded its mother for milk. "Still I must ask." She brought her hand up and rested it on the back of the hand that touched her face, her fingertips running along the ridges and hollows that his veins made across it. "Why haven't you been to see me?"
"I didn't think it proper." Will's other hand crept through the bars near her side, where he laid it upon her shoulder. "I did not think it proper," he repeated, "to loiter about your property in an inappropriate fashion."
Elizabeth pressed her face to the bars of the gate, eyes looking at his face in a scathing manner. "You mean you thought you would do me a dishonor of having the town blacksmith court the governor's daughter candidly?" She cocked her head, struggling to read the stiff mask that was his expression. "You could not assume I would be ashamed of you."
He considered her words, then "Partially." He fished about for words, wishing to fill the void in the night air. "I thought you might think less of me, now that I can no longer act the pirate and fulfill your fancy."
Elizabeth's brow furrowed, then she laughed. "You thought I favored a pirate? Dear William, it takes more than a sword and disregard for the law to capture my fancy." She bestowed a glowing smile upon him. He returned her attentions, and bent to claim her lips; the iron was thick, and their faces strained to make contact, but failed, and they resolved just to stand there, close together, drinking in the other's presence.
A string of hacking coughs drifted from the house, and Elizabeth pulled from the intimate trance in which she found herself. "I shall have to leave you for now, Will." She whispered; a blatant change from her prior merry humor, and felt his hands slide from their warm places on her face and shoulder as she retreated to the door. Will still leaned against the gate, piercing brown eyes following her every move in complete adoration.
"Goodnight, then." He said inaudibly, forcing himself to return to the now darkened street.
Elizabeth closed the door of the house and leaned against it, feeling cold in the absence of Will's presence. Hoarse coughing sounded from the upstairs bedrooms; she closed her eyes and took in her breath sharply. Drawing her robe close around her, she ascended the steps jerkily, her fingers cold and unfeeling of the balustrade sliding beneath them. She passed into her father's room and looked upon the shrunken figure that lay there.
Governor Swann was a large, proud man that Elizabeth recalled with fondness from her childhood. As she grew older, she realized his faults, but it endeared him all the more to her. He had always protected her-until pirates snatched her from his reach.
As she gazed upon him now, weak with illness and delirium, she could not help but to blame herself for his diminish. Upon her return to the manor after her escapades, she had heard the servants talking in hushed tones of how the governor had worried himself from health. The doctors diagnosed his coughs and weakness to an excess of choler and took blood, but still, she blamed herself, and attended to him night and day along with his nurses.
Elizabeth crossed the room and knelt by his bedside, pressing cool cloths from the wash basin to his brow as he murmured in his restless slumber. "Victoria?" He muttered, one bleary eye opening. He spoke of Elizabeth's long-dead mother.
"It's all right, Father." She said softly, her fingers combing through the thinning hair usually concealed beneath an elaborate wig. He fell to sleep again; she wiped his glistening forehead and unbuttoned a few holes in his nightshirt, adjusting the sheets to a cooler position. This done, she kissed his damp cheek and blew out the candle, making her way to her own room.
Her bed was untouched, the moonlight sifting through the curtains to lie on her quilt. Sighing, she returned to the window seat. Will was no longer there, but she gazed over the island with a thoughtful expression, her mind crossing streets and barriers to the blacksmith shop-a place she had not been since she was young and Will newly apprenticed there.
She wondered why he spent every waking hour there-what was it about fresh metal and heat of coals and the constant banging and sparks of the hammer that so demanded his attention? Or was it a love of creation? That the effects of long hours and sweat and heat could result in a fine weapon that could kill and protect. Whatever it was that drew him to the profession, she was jaded by it, and wished Will could find a way out of his single-minded devotion. Or simply divert it.
She smiled at this thought, but her smile faded quickly as she was sobered by other thoughts. She looked to her bed. She needed rest, whether her mind would allow it or not. Resignedly she clambered into the pillows, unable to quench her feeling of cold.
A/N: Okay, slightly angsty, but I promise, the rest of the story will be a little/a lot more upbeat. I feel I am entitled to a few somber chapters later on, right? Heck, it's my story. Review!
A/N: Almost a year ago I wrote a piece called 'Will' (original title, huh?) I got around forty-something reviews, pretty good, I guess, for my first fanfic. I had this pretty good idea for a sequel, though it follows a more historical account of the early 1700's (no undead pirates or Aztec gods, sorry:-). It is classified as action/romance and stuff, though the action won't start until maybe around chapter 10, but I'm going for character development at the beginning, so I hope that's okay. I am currently in need of a beta reader, not just for grammar b/c I think I have a pretty good handle on the technical stuff, but in the sense of an older, more experienced writer giving me tips on character relations and better writing technique. (by older, I mean college-level or a VERY experienced and acclaimed high school upperclassman fanfiction/fiction writer. I think my email is on my profile, but if it isn't, just leave a signed review at the end of this chapter and I'll get back to you. Thanks!
Chapter 1
It had been a hard day at the forge, and Will needed a bath-and sleep, but as he passed the wrought iron gates of the governor's mansion and saw her light in the upper window, he stopped. His feet immediately complained, having been standing in hard soles on a dirt floor for twelve hours ceaselessly, and he shifted from foot to foot to ease the swelling. His eyes fixated on the delicate fluttering of her curtain in the breeze. Her silhouette was feathery against the cloth, and he watched the dimness of her movements in complete rapture.
Her hair was bound up, but soon he saw her arm raise up, and the shadow of her curls rippling to her shoulders fell across the 'screen'. He drew in his breath sharply, and turned away from the window. Movement caught his attention, and he looked again to see her pulling the curtain away to gaze across the courtyard.
Moonlight filtered through the thin cloud covering, and it fell upon her, wrapped in her dressing gown and free of corsets, pins, and propriety. Will stepped into the black shadow that a tree cast. He was not prepared for her to speak to him yet. He shifted his eyes to the moon. There had been a time not so long past when he feared it, for it reminded him of a thing which almost took that which was most precious to him. Now he thought it the most beautiful substance on earth, as it shone upon his beloved.
He looked down at his grubby shoes and clothing. He was a fool for such musings, and a romantic fool at that. He didn't deserve her; for all that she had lowered herself to taking his name before she even realized she desired it. Or stood up against men with the power to take her life and prevailed, all for the fact that she would give her life for him, and he the same.
Soft strains of song floated from the window; Will heard it, and a smile came to his wearied face. So, she still dared to sing it. She still held to the hope that one day she would be free from the trappings of governor's daughter, sailing on the open sea. He sighed and stepped from his hiding place to the silvered street. She saw him, and did not speak, but she stood very erect in the window, and her face bore incertitude coupled with yearning.
Will resignedly turned and walked to where he leaned against the gate, the metal cool under his fingers, and he gazed up the black shafts absentmindedly to admire the handiwork. Elizabeth's curtain closed, and he heard her moving through the house as she made for the exit. The door opened, and he heard the faint sound of a wracking cough, then the door closed and she was there behind the gate, clothed only in her night shift and dressing gown.
They did not speak, but both were very close to one another, the only barrier being the gate. Her eyes were reproachful, stating the evident. As he stepped closer and took the sleeve of her robe in his fingers, the expression changed, and he knew she had missed him acutely.
"Must I say what is plain for eyes to see?" She said softly, grasping the warm wrist on her sleeve. His skin was soft here, compared to the thick roughness of his blacksmith's hands-- soft and full of feeling that relaxed him.
"Nay," He replied. "I have not been attending to matters more urgent than business deals." His breath caught in his throat, and he lowered his deep voice even more, "Matters of the heart."
Elizabeth nodded, and leaned against the gate, the cold iron biting her skin. They fell silent, their eyes probing the others'. Will laid a hand on her cheek, his fingers laying flat, then curling slightly in a motion that reminded Elizabeth of how a cat kneaded its mother for milk. "Still I must ask." She brought her hand up and rested it on the back of the hand that touched her face, her fingertips running along the ridges and hollows that his veins made across it. "Why haven't you been to see me?"
"I didn't think it proper." Will's other hand crept through the bars near her side, where he laid it upon her shoulder. "I did not think it proper," he repeated, "to loiter about your property in an inappropriate fashion."
Elizabeth pressed her face to the bars of the gate, eyes looking at his face in a scathing manner. "You mean you thought you would do me a dishonor of having the town blacksmith court the governor's daughter candidly?" She cocked her head, struggling to read the stiff mask that was his expression. "You could not assume I would be ashamed of you."
He considered her words, then "Partially." He fished about for words, wishing to fill the void in the night air. "I thought you might think less of me, now that I can no longer act the pirate and fulfill your fancy."
Elizabeth's brow furrowed, then she laughed. "You thought I favored a pirate? Dear William, it takes more than a sword and disregard for the law to capture my fancy." She bestowed a glowing smile upon him. He returned her attentions, and bent to claim her lips; the iron was thick, and their faces strained to make contact, but failed, and they resolved just to stand there, close together, drinking in the other's presence.
A string of hacking coughs drifted from the house, and Elizabeth pulled from the intimate trance in which she found herself. "I shall have to leave you for now, Will." She whispered; a blatant change from her prior merry humor, and felt his hands slide from their warm places on her face and shoulder as she retreated to the door. Will still leaned against the gate, piercing brown eyes following her every move in complete adoration.
"Goodnight, then." He said inaudibly, forcing himself to return to the now darkened street.
Elizabeth closed the door of the house and leaned against it, feeling cold in the absence of Will's presence. Hoarse coughing sounded from the upstairs bedrooms; she closed her eyes and took in her breath sharply. Drawing her robe close around her, she ascended the steps jerkily, her fingers cold and unfeeling of the balustrade sliding beneath them. She passed into her father's room and looked upon the shrunken figure that lay there.
Governor Swann was a large, proud man that Elizabeth recalled with fondness from her childhood. As she grew older, she realized his faults, but it endeared him all the more to her. He had always protected her-until pirates snatched her from his reach.
As she gazed upon him now, weak with illness and delirium, she could not help but to blame herself for his diminish. Upon her return to the manor after her escapades, she had heard the servants talking in hushed tones of how the governor had worried himself from health. The doctors diagnosed his coughs and weakness to an excess of choler and took blood, but still, she blamed herself, and attended to him night and day along with his nurses.
Elizabeth crossed the room and knelt by his bedside, pressing cool cloths from the wash basin to his brow as he murmured in his restless slumber. "Victoria?" He muttered, one bleary eye opening. He spoke of Elizabeth's long-dead mother.
"It's all right, Father." She said softly, her fingers combing through the thinning hair usually concealed beneath an elaborate wig. He fell to sleep again; she wiped his glistening forehead and unbuttoned a few holes in his nightshirt, adjusting the sheets to a cooler position. This done, she kissed his damp cheek and blew out the candle, making her way to her own room.
Her bed was untouched, the moonlight sifting through the curtains to lie on her quilt. Sighing, she returned to the window seat. Will was no longer there, but she gazed over the island with a thoughtful expression, her mind crossing streets and barriers to the blacksmith shop-a place she had not been since she was young and Will newly apprenticed there.
She wondered why he spent every waking hour there-what was it about fresh metal and heat of coals and the constant banging and sparks of the hammer that so demanded his attention? Or was it a love of creation? That the effects of long hours and sweat and heat could result in a fine weapon that could kill and protect. Whatever it was that drew him to the profession, she was jaded by it, and wished Will could find a way out of his single-minded devotion. Or simply divert it.
She smiled at this thought, but her smile faded quickly as she was sobered by other thoughts. She looked to her bed. She needed rest, whether her mind would allow it or not. Resignedly she clambered into the pillows, unable to quench her feeling of cold.
A/N: Okay, slightly angsty, but I promise, the rest of the story will be a little/a lot more upbeat. I feel I am entitled to a few somber chapters later on, right? Heck, it's my story. Review!