Disclaimer: Will, Liz, Norri and Jack, along with all related pirate paraphernalia, belong to the rat. I mean, the mouse.
A/N: The Wild Swans at Coole is a beautiful poem by Yeats, and it partially inspired this piece. Also, William Turner is the name of a famous birdwatcher, and red strings come from Japanese myth.
It seems foolish, even to himself, but Will finds himself, once again, comparing Elizabeth to the bird she shares her name with.
Swans. Beautiful, elegant, mysterious… and untouchable.
Will watches her, sees the tears roll down her cheeks and says nothing, does not reach to comfort her.
She always was so beautiful. That day she descended the stairs in that new dress of hers - 'I had a dream about you last night' - had made Will love her like nothing else, once again and stronger than ever. Only to be in her presence would be a blessing. But what was he but a dull brown mouse? How could he compare with the ivory whiteness of her feathers? What right had he to dream so?
Then, the night of the pirate raid. Wild and beautiful, her wings pinioned by two pirates as they pulled her away. She turned to see him, then, her eyes wild. "Will!"He wanted to save her, set her free once more. He wanted her to wheel free in the sky, and then for her to come back to him. Not as a falcon to a falconer, but as a woman to her love.
He followed her captors, determined to free her from that cage. He found her, battered and hurt, feathers plucked, lying still and silent. But her heart still beat, and her feathers were still strong. They flew from that place; they flew.
She'd handed him the medallion, cooing, pleading for his forgiveness. He'd raged, not at her, but at the unfairness of fate, and she'd vanished in a clatter of wings. A single feather had drifted down to him, brushing him with regret.
He watched her as she'd perched precariously on that wooden beam, her fine feathers plucked from her but still beautiful - always beautiful! He watched her as she was forced into flight she could not manage - he watched her plummet, and his heart sank with her.
But he never gave up - he knew she would return. But his heart was broken - his swan had given her heart as a key that would unlock his own freedom from the cage of curséd gold. But what good was freedom if there was no heart, no love, to fill it with.
So when she did return, hissing and clawing and striking men down with those great wings of hers, Will had relished the company, revelled in it. He moved with her, an elegant dance, as they fought with those pirates who had sought to put both of them in a cage stronger than steel. And when it was all over, Will turned to his swan and told her to fly to the hand of the man she'd sworn to marry.
And he'd watched her as she'd turned from him, tears falling down that beautiful face.
He'd crossed the seas for that swan. He'd wished for years to be allowed even one moment to admire her beauty as she flew past. He'd yearned for the time when he and his swan would face the new day together, bound by nothing more than a red string.
So he stepped out on a ledge, walked where even a fool would not tread. And his swan had flown to him and tied that thread herself. And that love made them both soar.
Will was finally flying with his swan. But it was, perhaps, too good to last.
She'd sat in her finest feathers in the rain and flown to him, trying to free him from his chains. He'd spoken to her through the iron bars of a cage, promising to return and free her. By forces beyond their reckoning both Will and his swan had been pulled apart.
But he would free her. He loved her. And he was sure that she loved him. Swans mate for life, after all.
He crossed the seas for her, endured torments no living man should ever have to face. And when he was finally reunited with her, under an open sky, it was to him that she flew to. It was with unflinching hands that she held the gun, ready to slay her love for love's sake if need be. Their red string had not weakened by time or tide. The threads had remained strong, unfrayed by pressure or by forces which pulled hard at the strings that bound Will and his swan.
But red strings are easily severed.
Elizabeth is crying now, in the prow of the boat, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Tears are falling down that beautiful face.
She gave her heart away, just as before, in order to give him freedom. But this time, his broken heart will not so easily mend. Swans are untouchable in their beauty and mystery, after all.
Swans mate for life, but Elizabeth had not chosen Will. She had chosen another bird. A dull brown bird, but one who brushed freedom with his wings and sang a joyful song for all to hear. And now he was dead, and Will's swan was helpless. Helpless, but free.
But what is freedom without love?
Elizabeth Swann - she needs her freedom. She needs someone to love her. And Will knows that he was no longer the one. So, heartbroken, he would be content to watch the graceful curve of her flight from the earth below. He would find some way to restore both her freedom and her love… By any means. Because he would rather see his swan free and happy, soaring with beautiful music, than to see her pinioned or caged by loss. He would do anything to see her free.
Even if that meant he would be forever grounded, spending the rest of his life alone, watching as the birds fly past.