OT: Well, here I am. A bit of a horrible person because I have two fics going on now, even though the other is nearly finished. Oh well. I couldn't wait to start this one. Several people liked my fanfic about "inbetween scenes" during the course of the second and third pirates movie called "When the Rain Began to Fall..." The idea of writing a couple inbetween scenes for the first movie then began to roll around in my head, but then I thought, "No, no. What could I cover?"

Well...I did figure out scenes to piece through the movie, including all of the deleted scenes, a few cut lines, and my own imagination. It will switch from the vantage points of Will and Elizabeth, and occasionally Jack when he is a dominant part of the scene (i.e. island inbetween/deleted scenes.) Hopefully reviewers will come! I do love reviews, critisizing or praising, giggles or angry opinions. Any and everything is welcome.

Pairing: Will and Elizabeth

Summary: Will arriving at the mansion, the carriage ride, and the actual, very uncomfortable ceremony.

No copyright infringement intended, of course.

This is mostly Elizabeth's point of view, but the next will concern a lot of Will... considering how he came to find out about Miss Swann's dealings with Captain Jack Sparrow and his entering into the smithy. I also tried to make Elizabeth... Not quite likeable in this chapter except when it came to her affections for Will. At least for now. Don't get me wrong. I think her character is brilliant, but... I view her as very spoiled and unaware of how politics affect her in the end... I mean, look at the ending of the first film. She grabs Will's arm and gives him a look, "My father will fix this." Will says he will take responsibility for his actions, something she is just beginning to learn about. Its an important theme in my eyes.

Ah, now I'm rambling, aren't I? Best not give everything away. Savvy? Sorry for the long intro.

Enjoy! And I'm serious, leave reviews. Hehe :D

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William Turner warily entered, fiddling with the lining of his stitched jacket as he tucked the pristine, leather case under his arm. He nodded to the dreary servant, whose brown, squinting eyes hung limply, but the man only arched one eyebrow and ordered him to wait in the foyer. He halted in front of the door, his eyes swiveling from one side of the chamber to the other, attempting to locate the Governor or gain a glimpse of the lovely Miss Swann. What was he thinking? Elizabeth...Miss Swann...His love... Would most certainly still be abed. He recalled her resolute and unyielding policy: the day only began to waste after noon.

A small smile crept at the corners of his mouth, but it quickly vanished and fluttered in his stomach. When was the last time he had spoken to her? Two weeks? No, it must have been a month. It was when the governor set in an order. This order, actually. He glanced at his own craftsmanship that would soon belong to another. A greater man than he and the rival for Elizabeth's affections. Not that her affections would ever belong to Will...

He cleared his throat and smoothed his fastened chocolate brown locks, feeling entirely awkward standing alone without a soul to speak to. A maid ambled past him with a large woven basket of flowers hoisted upon her shoulder and then a swift-step man met her mid-way, mentioning a chore to be done before continuing his trek. William abruptly realized how shabby he looked – even compared to the servants. Their clothes were pressed, their wigs aligned, and their faces... Their expressions seemed so flawlessly firm. There was no caution in their purpose.

Will rubbed the toe of his buckle shoes against his stockings, hoping to shine them a bit. The walk to the mansion had dirtied his ankles something terrible. No use. He then stared at those worn-out shoes that he had owned for over two years. They were now growing tight, but what means did he have of buying new shoes? He must save his money for buying Mr. Brown's shop, not for frivolous desires. He nervously paced the entrance and paused at the tolling grandfather clock and then at a towering sconce. He reached up, finding one of the candles quite eschew, but when he attempted to straighten it, part of the sconce snapped into his hand, the popping sound resonating in the chamber as his face formed in a foul frown. Oh, no. One step into the Governor's mansion and he was already wreaking havoc. He heard footsteps. Footsteps of the governor! He hastily stashed the broken part in a basket clanging with canes and then spun around, flipping his eyes to the ceiling as the man entered.

Thank God.

It was only a servant with a tray of silver tea pots, his gaze only on his destination. Will nodded to the man and took a small step forward.

"Good day," he said, but the servant paid no heed. Will shook his head. Why did he feel the need to say something? How silly these people must think he is. How absurd he must look to Miss Swann... Or would look if she were standing before him. More footsteps and his gaze slowly turned to the Governor Weatherby Swann, who gracefully descended the staircase after yet another servant. Will strode to the nearby table and settled the case.

"Ah, Mr. Turner, good to see you again," the governor said with a small smile.

Perhaps he had grown a little sincere since his and Elizabeth's adventures of their childhood...But the man still glanced at him in slight distaste. Will always knew that.

"Good day, Sir," Will said confidently. "I have your order." He unlatched the leather case, fumbling with the lock for only a moment before unsheathing the beautifully constructed sword.

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Elizabeth clasped a corner of her skirt as she stepped into the carriage, her hand grazing against her taut stomach before settling into the cushioned seat beside her father. She sighed and gazed out the small window as William strolled out the door, mouthing something after her. She really shouldn't have behaved that callously toward him. It wasn't his fault that her father pressed such extreme measures of society upon them, but... Simultaneously, Elizabeth could not fully blame her father. She attempted to build those bridges with Will, and he rejected them time after time.

The carriage clattered forward, and she gripped the decorated side for a moment, feeling her stomach lurch beneath the constricting corset. At least the woman no longer felt woozy, as she did when she was speaking. She heard her father's knuckles crack and saw his wrists flick a few times.

"I do hope that you demonstrate a little more decorum in front of Commodore Norrington," the governor said, not meeting his daughter's confounded gaze. "After all, it is only through his efforts that Port Royal..." He paused to glance out of the window at the flurrying city. "Has become civilized at all, hm?"

She did not dare visit the subject of her father's or the commodore's reign. Politics were never her forte nor was she planning on studying the inner workings of a "just" city. There was always corruption. Never entirely civilized... After all, how else did that vile Lord Beckett in England rise to a commercial businessman?

"It is not as if I don't know him, Father." Elizabeth turned her own gaze back to the window. Besides, she thought, it seemed Will wouldn't allow any more memories to be shared.

"True," he said, watching Elizabeth wriggle in the seat slightly, from what he thought was anxiety at the topic. "But I am certain a respectable man like Commodore Norrington expects more from you, my dear, as do I."

Elizabeth didn't answer, suddenly sucking in a quick gasp of air. Her ribs scraped against the corset's grooved lining, and she slowly released the breath, finding short, steady breaths easier but far less comfortable. Blasted contraption. What man invented this?

Governor Swann gazed at his daughter inquisitively, furrowing his eyebrows as Elizabeth waved her left hand, gesturing that she was fine, even though she writhed in her seat uncontrollably until focusing her mindset elsewhere.

"How long will the ceremony last?" she asked, nearly sputtering out the words.

"No longer than a few hours, but as you must recall, there will be an honorary dinner afterward."

"Oh," Elizabeth said softly, casting her eyes to her peach skirt. She had hoped afterward she could apologize to Will. Very well, then. She would visit him on the morrow. "It had slipped my mind." Elizabeth pressed on her stiff stomach once more and rolled her shoulders.

"Are you all right, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, I am just a bit..." Well, there really wasn't another way to explain it. "I am horribly uncomfortable in this dress," she said.

"Well," he said, averting his gaze from his daughter. Her underclothes were hardly a subject of decency. "I suppose if the women of London can bear it, my daughter can."

Elizabeth scoffed at the notion. Apparently he had forgotten all the fashion statements she had ignored through the years, due to their distance from England's society and her intolerance for awkward situations. The governor did not notice her expression of disgust and smiled as the fort came into view, and Elizabeth drummed her slender, manicured fingers against the seat, relishing in the idea of her new corset simmering and burning to a crisp. She would like to see what the respectable Commodore would think of that.

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Elizabeth gently stepped from the carriage, her strides short and laden as she flicked open her white fan and flapped the stifling heat into her face. Her arm movements were restricted as well, and she could not relax the position of her shoulders, thrusting her chest out for the entire world to see. No wonder women in London married by the time they were ten and seven. Their bosoms were practically shoved in a man's face, especially if he were at the woman's height.

"Come," Governor Swann said, unaware of his daughter's great discomfort as he led her through the crowds. "We must not be late for a ceremony that I am hosting."

"Oh no," Elizabeth whispered, mocking her father and crinkling her nose. "What a disappointment that would be."

She glided past several spectators, gathering in small throngs to watch the proceedings, and felt their eyes slither over Miss Swann's delicate body, calling her "quite a handsome young lady" and encouraging their sons to request to have an audience with her. She pretended not to hear those gossipy mothers and enduring fathers, but she knew. Day after day a new request would come of her, boys and men wanting to speak with her and create a brilliant match. As if she would endure their phony witty comments. Elizabeth had ultimately stopped laughing at their jests, due to the fact that they were never humorous... or she had heard a better one.

"Mister Edward Burke would like an audience with Miss Swann, Governor."

His eyes would swivel over to Elizabeth, who was usually munching on her breakfast or reading a dastardly novel. She would half-smile and then politely refuse, sometimes with just the shake of her head.

"Tell Mr. Burke that Miss Swann cannot meet with anyone today. Perhaps we could arrange something later, hm?" His gaze would return to Elizabeth, and she would coyly smile and nod. Yes, it was just another way to evade a conversation. Twenty years old and not yet married. Any longer and she would be considered an "old maid." An old maid who never lived fully? Whoever heard of such a thing?

Elizabeth separated from her father, sidling into a group of women and greeting them kindly. They complimented Miss Swann on her new dress, admiring the ingenuity of the design and how pretty her hair was today. She smiled and thanked them, even though she could feel their indignant wrath. Not much to say about Miss Swann except for her clothes...After all, her head was filled with silly notions. They had all witnessed them emerge through conversation. But nonetheless, it was only proper to greet and praise the Governor's daughter.

The drums began to pound and the men raised their flutes and string instruments and began to play a lively tune, nothing too loud, but a melody entirely representing the military... Or was it just the navy? Elizabeth could never remember. Ah, that was exactly why politics were not meant for her. The commander shouted a command and the red-coats turned and shifted their muskets without a slight change of face. She rolled her eyes and glanced to the sky. Could it be any hotter? She flapped her fan a little lighter, the warm air only stinging her brown doe-eyes.

"Two paces, march!"

Elizabeth knew he would arrive soon enough. She stared at the long and narrow tunnel created by the musket's elongated weapons and watched the Commodore, James Norrington, stride into the opening, his arms crossed behind his back and his curled wig sitting straightly beneath his tricorne hat. She sighed. He was the one her father thought she was destined for... But he was so unyielding. Never speaking out of turn or crossing the line once. She struggled to find any similarities between them, except for their kind tempers. He was never rash... And she wasn't as rash as she used to be.

"Right about face! Present arms!"

His footsteps were long and elegant, but her gaze was averted to the ground as the sun rose higher into the sky, beating upon her back, seeping through her thin white hat and beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She wiped them quickly away as she heard James' footsteps pass by her, but she was unable to meet his brief glance toward her. Lord, how much longer could one ceremony last?

The corset seemed to cinch tighter beneath the heat, climbing up her back as sweat dribbled between the gaps in the fabric. Her nose scrunched as she bent to the left and then to the right, waving the fan furiously, not even realizing the gallant flips of Commodore Norrington's sword or the proud smile upon her father's face. She continued to writhe and picked up one dainty foot and then the other, her heels suddenly seeming too high, too pressing. Let it be over! Her free hand went to her stomach, gripping her waist futilely and ignoring the stares and glares from other weapons. Did they endure this torture every day? She hoped they didn't. Elizabeth couldn't willingly wish that on anyone.

Then, the soldiers were departing from their ranks, drifting into conversations, and Elizabeth was standing alone. The women had vanished and the men had retreated to their wives' sides, making sure that they would not be swayed by a fluttering foot-soldier. Elizabeth surveyed her surroundings, hoping to find her father or the carriage. Either would help her escape if she whined enough. Elizabeth walked slowly up a short flight of steps, avoiding the towering parasols of a few women as she rested in the shade of the fort and leaned against a supportive stone pillar, inhaling light breaths. Nothing too deep or her lungs burned. Some of the pressure released from her torso, but the heat still clouted her vision. She closed her eyes and then opened them again. A stitched mahogany-brown coat, a cleanly shaven face, a chocolate brown ponytail, and a cherishing smile. Will? Was that him? She stepped away from the pillar and bent slightly at the waist, immediately screeching with pain as her stomach attempted to roll. Elizabeth squinted, the figure coming into focus. No, just another man. Not her secret love.

"Miss Swann?"

She straightened, knowing the proper tone and a little terrified of the voice.

"May I have a moment?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said, flushing as she looped her arm through Commodore Norrington's. "Of course." Dear friend. What surprises would he hold today?