Hello lovelies! If you're here, you either just stumbled across this or you came from Destiny Undone (my long-ass reader/Thorin Hobbit fic, thanks for the shameless plug)! Either way, I'm glad you're here! Get ready for a high-seas adventure with, like, 60% more character development than DU.

Pirates (c) Disney

You inhale deeply, taking in the intoxicating smell of the ocean. The crystalline waters lap at your knees and wash over your surfboard. The high afternoon sun kisses each peak with a brilliant sparkle. On the white beach, other vacationers tan and build sandcastles and just generally enjoy themselves. It's a picturesque scene, one that could only be found in the Caribbean.

You'd won the cruise out of the sheer luck of calling into a radio station at the right time. You were happy to take the time off work when you found out the ship was stopping in the Caribbean. You'd joked to your friends before leaving that you wouldn't be back; you were going to steal a ship and become a pirate. It was a good laugh, but in all honesty, if some pirate crew tried to recruit you, you'd be in.

The water swells behind you. You paddle to catch the wave. Surf conditions turned out to be optimal today, so you'd rented a board for an afternoon of shredding.

You rise on the board and find your balance. There's something exhilarating about gliding over water, the breeze in your hair and the spray of the sea on your face. The wave curls, encasing you in a tunnel of rushing water. You see a school of silver fish to your right. You wish you could swim with them - you think about investing the rest of the day in snorkeling -

"Whoa, watch out!"

It's the last thing you hear before something very firm knocks you on the head and your board disappears from under you. You plunge deep into the cool water. The wave rolls you over and over as it passes, leaving you disoriented and very low on oxygen. You try to find up - the safety cord on your ankle is gone - and the water is so clear that there's no following the light -

You choke on the carbon dioxide filling your lungs. You're starting to get dizzy. You kick desperately in any direction. Your brain refuses to be without oxygen any longer and orders you to breathe. You take a great pull of water and gag. The panic only makes you inhale more of the salty, stinging solution. Your chest is on fire, then, in an instant, none of it matters...

The ocean gives one more great heave, as though trying to spit you out. You bob along with the current, too weak to fight anymore.

Hands are suddenly on you, slapping your face and shaking you. You vomit up a lot of water and gasp in all the air your lungs had been missing. You flail wildly for anything steady and reassuring to hold onto as you come back to reality.

"It's alright, I've got you," a woman's kind voice says from somewhere above you. You clench her arm and use it as grounding while the breaths tear out of your aching chest.

The world slowly comes back into focus before your stinging eyes. The sky is still blue, and the sun is in it along with a flock of gulls. A rush of foam sizzles over your legs - you're still by the water. Whoever was talking must have saved you from drowning, and not a second too soon. Your raw throat struggles to form words. "Tha - thank - "

"Shh, you shouldn't speak. Come here."

You're pulled into a warm, soft bed of pleasantly-scented fabric. You cuddle into it instinctively. The woman the very fluffy towel belongs to coos soothingly to you.

"Elizabeth? What have you got there?" a man asks.

"A girl! The poor thing washed ashore, almost drowned. Give me your coat, Father, she hasn't got any clothes - "

Another layer of fabric is draped over you. You mumble in thanks. You're really too exhausted by your near-death experience to be very social. For all you care, they could leave you there on the beach to sleep it off, as long as high tide isn't any time soon.

You awake in a very comfortable bed. You smile, eyes still closed. What a perfect resolution to one terrifying event. Some good Samaritan had returned you to your cabin and put you to bed. Though you're sore, you're warm, and however long you were asleep was enough to rejuvenate you. You open your eyes to meet an unfamiliar ceiling.

You blink. The ceiling in your cabin is a very nice wood. And your bed is not a four-postered one. And your cabin does not have a window with a balcony overlooking a town by the sea. You sit bolt upright and stare around, worried. This is no room you've ever been in, though it seems bizarrely familiar.

The door opens, revealing a beautiful young lady in an antique dress. She enters with a smile and a tray. You greet her with a piercing scream.

She jumps and hastily shuts the door. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you!" she calls over your din.

"You're Elizabeth Swann," you shriek.

"I - yes, I'm Elizabeth Swann. Do I know you?"

"Oh god. Oh god. Oh no. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. I'm dead. I've died, I'm dead, I drowned and now I'm in - heaven? Is this heaven?"

"No, this isn't heaven, and you haven't drowned. Please calm down and let me explain." She waits for you to take a shuddering breath before continuing. "I found you in the water during a walk on the beach. I pulled you out and you coughed up a lot of water. I couldn't just leave you there."

"S-So you brought me to your house and put me in your bed?" It's both an exclamation and a sincere question.

Elizabeth nods, looking very worried for your mental state.

"So I'm in Port Royal. In the Caribbean. In the house of the governor, in the bed of the governor's daughter."

"Yes, right on all accounts. You must be from the town to know so much. Does your family know what's happened?"

"No, I - I'm not from here," you say truthfully. "I just got in yesterday..."

"Well, a very unlucky way to start your visit! I do hope things get better for you, miss - sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

You fight through the chaos in your brain to give a name that would fit in with the time period, because if this you really are smack in the middle of the 1700s, your name will not do at all. "I'm...I'm Ella?" you half-ask.

"That's a lovely name. I'm Elizabeth, though it seems you already know me. What brought you to Port Royal, Ella?"

You stare, dumbfounded, as it occurs to you that you're going to have to whip up an entire persona to keep from being thrown in the asylum. "I - um - I'm sorry, I'm having trouble remembering..."

"It's alright, don't strain yourself. Here, I brought you some water."

You try not to make a face at the kind gesture; for all you know, this was as good as toilet water. You drink it anyway, as your throat is a mess, and find it surprisingly refreshing. "Thank you," you sigh. "And thank you for bringing me to your own bed. You're very kind, Miss Swann."

"Please, call me Elizabeth. And you're welcome to it. You should stay with us for a few days, at least until your memory is clearer."

"Oh! I couldn't impose..." you say politely, but you really hope she insists, because you have nowhere else to go.

"Not at all!" she says warmly. "We have plenty of room. It's only my father and I and the servants. I certainly couldn't turn you out in the streets."

"Well, thank you again," you say sincerely. "Your hospitality is more than appreciated. I am in your debt."

Elizabeth escorts you to a guest room that is just as lavish as hers. She lets you rest for the evening, promising to have a maid bring you dinner. You thank her yet again and collapse on the bed once she exits. Your mind is spinning from the impossibility of it all. No logic in the world can explain how you almost drown and then wash up on the shore of a beach three centuries in the past, no less in your favorite series of movies. It is impossible. It's completely impossible. Yet here you are, the guest of the governor's daughter.

You gaze out the window at the town beside the ocean. Ships rock gently by the busy docks. Horse-drawn carriages traverse the cobblestone streets. People on foot stop to greet each other. Yeah, you're definitely way back in the day.

You stare out the window for a long time, particularly at the docks, wondering when or if a certain infamous pirate would come to call.