Title: Temptation
Author: Tegril, also known as Calenlass Greenleaf (For Lord of the Rings and Silmarillion fanfiction)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. All known POTC characters belong to Disney and the people who thought up the ideas. There are quotes from the movies, and I trust you know what they are. I'm merely borrowing them.
Claimer: Only the original characters and the plot are my property.
Spoilers: For all of POTC, and especially AWE.
Genre: Romance/Angst
Timeframe: After AWE events, but before Will returns. The sixth year.
Rating: T. Please read all warnings and author notes (At the beginning and at the end of this story).
Warnings: Tiny bit of non-consensual acts, mentions of what married people do, mild swearing, some violence, and dark angst. I've debated for a long time what rating to give, and have finally settled on a high teen rating. Everything is hinted at, not written out graphically. I don't write R or NC-17 rated romance stories.
Characters: Mainly Elizabeth, with Will and others mentioned. There are also original characters in this story.
Pairings: Ultimately Willabeth, because these two were destined for each other. No slash.
Summary: No love or person is perfect, not even the romance of Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann. During a decade of separation, anything can happen. Elizabeth was once sure that she would always love Will and no one else. Now, after a few years of waiting, that conviction is slowly fading, especially when that love is challenged, and the offer looks tempting. See Author's Note at the beginning.
Important Author's Note regarding the plot of this story:
I'm not exactly fond of Elizabeth Swann in the movies. Yes, I may be a Willabether, and yes, the two of them belong together, but I'm unsatisfied with how the script writers have written Elizabeth's character and personality. She's practically "the perfect female pirate in POTC." If I were to be extremely critical, I could call her something akin to a Mary Sue. Even the way they fell in love is like the a fairy tale.
Life isn't a fairy tale, however. She's still human, and humans are imperfect. We break our promises, we argue, we commit sins. I'm not an angel, and neither is Elizabeth.
This is an attempt to make her a not-so-perfect person and a more human heroine that everyone can identify with.
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You don't always fight physically to prove you're strong; sometimes the emotional part is more difficult to battle.
-Tegril aka Calenlass Greenleaf
Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.
-Book of Matthew 26:41, KJV version
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A/N #2: Non-consensual means that in the situation of two people, one person is unwilling to do something and the other person attempts to, or forces the first person to do something. In this story, the non-con is only an attempt and nothing more. Like I've said before, I only ship Willabeth and some Jack/Anamaria.
A/N #3: I've given the proper warnings and ratings; if you choose not to heed them, and find this story is not to your liking, it's not my fault.
Temptation: Prologue
In Savanna-al-mar…
She was wandering along the shore again.
The wind blew at her hair and clothing, tugging hard at time. Yet it seemed as if she was unaware them, lost in her own thoughts.
It was like a daily ritual, to visit the sea at every setting of the sun. The scene never varied, but still she went, day after day. If the weather was good, she was there. If it was raining hard and the waves were violent, she was there. If it was snowing hail and sleet, she was there.
The only time she was not there was when she had carried her child until the month it was due, and for a time after that. As soon as her child was weaned and toddling, she went back to that desolate place.
At least she was no longer alone in keeping vigil. Her son was with her. Their eyes were ever turned westward, to the sea, the horizon, and the sunset.
The people in the nearby town called her mad. She had come out of nowhere in a small boat, wearing foreign clothes, bearing a sword and other arms, and carrying a small, metal chest with strange carvings on it. Purchasing a small house at the outskirts of the city, she lived alone. The people avoided her, and the only time anyone ever visited was when she called for a midwife. The woman had gone reluctantly. The next day, she told of the odd chest. "Something was alive in there," she had whispered, fear in her eyes. "I heard a heart beating, steadily."
This piece of news spread. People began saying that the woman was some spirit from the sea, perhaps even Calypso herself. Others claimed that she was a witch, a witch who had murdered her own husband and kept his heart in the chest. The lies spread and grew, quickly as lies were wont to.
But they dared not do anything. They had seen her sword, long and dangerous, sheathed it may be, and the pistols. Calypso was not one to be trifled with, and a witch—the idea frightened them greatly. The lot of them, however, was not as superstitious as to press charges.
The women did nothing to add or abate their fears; she kept to herself, only coming out to buy things herself and her son. The children avoided him, because their mothers told them to. But those that were bold did not seek to befriend him; rather, harm him.
They found out the hard way how the woman's son was a good shot with a slingshot.
Six years passed. The townspeople continued to whisper, but not much actually had happened. They wondered how she actually supported herself and her son. She seemed to have an inexhaustible store of money, though this was not apparent at first. The foreign clothes had disappeared in the first week, exchanged by the plain clothing commonly worn. But after six years of seeing her do nothing, they wondered.
A single woman with a child, who visited the sea every day but returned as soon as the sun had set, as if she were waiting for something.
Or someone.
Savanna-al-mar was known for its sugar, and other things such as a normal port would have. It had a governor, militia, and a set of rules. No one crossed them, and relatively, things were quiet. When the woman came, it was hardly noted by the government. As long as she did not make trouble, it was none of their business.
One day, a man had come. Oddly dressed, with beads and an assortment of other things hanging from his dreadlocks and beard, a battered hat, but had several weapons on his being. The townsfolk thought him mad, and perhaps he was. He had stayed for only a day, and most of it was spent at the tavern.
But the woman knew him. Several of the people had reported her talking with him, even smiling a bit. Her son had stood by her, saying little but seeming to also recognize the man. He had handed her something they could not see, and then left without another word.
The people wondered. Who was this inhabitant of their town?
---
London, England
The man tapped his fingers against the surface of the smooth, polished desk. In his other hand he held a long letter. He narrowed his eyes when he came to a particular sentence.
So Beckett had failed. As he had expected.
Reynard Cuthbert leaned back in his chair as he quickly scanned the document. It was hastily written, and the paper was of the poorest quality. The author? One of the few survivors that had limped back from the pirate attack. The pirates had at most fifteen ships. Beckett had a fleet.He had the Flying Dutchman, the most dangerous pirate ship, under his command.
Obviously, Beckett had underestimated the cunningness of these pirates.
In truth, Cuthbert himself had once been a privateer. Third in rank only to Beckett himself, he knew well enough what to and what not to expect of pirates. Compliancy was not one of them. Surrender was practically a thing unheard of among them. They were a stubborn-headed lot.
Now that Beckett was gone, the duty fell to him. A duty he would rather not finish. He had always hated Beckett. Pompous, lofty, tea-drinking Beckett. He dropped the letter back onto his desk in disgust. The writer was babbling something about Calypso now, and he was uninterested. She was a myth, nothing more. It was obvious this writer's mind had snapped.
His dark eyes skimmed to the last few paragraphs, and stopped.
Davy Jones was no longer captain of the Dutchman Interesting. Who could it be now? Sparrow? That one was bold enough.
Cuthbert read on, before pausing once again at a familiar name. He raised an eyebrow. Never did he suspect that young William Turner would be capable. Rumors were that if someone killed the captain of the Dutchman, he would become the captain himself, whether he wanted to or not. And the last time Reynard had seen him, he was engaged to daughter of the governor of Port Royal.
Unless, that engagement had been broken. He quickly finished the document, and learned that there was now a Pirate King, a female one at that. And she was no else than Elizabeth Swann.
He wondered if the man who had penned this letter had seriously muddled up the details. More than half of the missive was about events that were either outlandish or ludicrous.
Reynard rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, contemplating. But if the writer had been telling the truth, then the information would be interesting indeed. Maybe even useful.
His mind drifted back to Elizabeth Swann. They had only met briefly, when she had been imprisoned under Beckett. She had been a spitfire, glaring at him with brooding eyes and spitting out obscenities at him. For a few days, he had been enamored of her. His men had joked that if Turner didn't succeed in bringing back the compass, Elizabeth could go to him. But after the night of her escape, his attention turned to other things, and by and by, she was only a distant memory.
Until now.
Pirate Kings could rule until their leadership was challenged, or until death. They were rare, because, as everyone knew, pirates were self-centered, and only voted for themselves.
Female kings—or, queens—were even rarer.
Elizabeth was not a simple governor's daughter. In all appearances, she had the backing of powerful pirates. How else could she have become King? There was more to her than meets the eye.
There was also the question of Turner. Again, his encounter had been a short-term one, but from a few days, he knew Turner to be a man of morals, someone who never made decisions or promises lightly. That meant he would follow through, and no matter how much he would like to abjure, he would still commandeer the Dutchman. If he and Elizabeth had managed to marry before all this took place, he could only see her once every ten years. She as not allowed to go with him on his journeys.
If he had.
Reynard smiled. He knew many ways of persuasion. Force was one of them, as Beckett was so fond of using. Manipulation was Mercer's trade.
Seduction was another. And one he knew very, very well.
Sitting up, he found some paper and a quill. He would need to pen several letters, inform his most trusted men of his doings, and pack.
But his first priority was to find where the Pirate King was hiding.
TBC...
Terms:
(1) Savanna-al-Mar is a real port, situated in Jamaica like Port Royal is. I tried to search for information on it; Wikipedia gave me nothing, and Encyclopedia Britannica gave me two to three sentences. Even Tortuga had more paragraphs dedicated to it.
(2) A fleet is the equivalent of an army.
A/N: Well, you've made it this far. :) I usually don't ask, but, please, do leave a comment and give your opinion. I don't bite, unless I have good reason to.
A/N #2: This story's plot came to me while writing two other oneshots, "Do You Fear Death?" and "To Say Farewell." Of course, much of it also came with when watching Elizabeth willingly kiss Jack, and being kissed by Norrington (The only person she actually minded was Sao Feng). It made me think...ten years without Will, and being alone, longing for her husband, someone might come by and say to her that her husband has probably forgotten about her, and offered her something...it's not a far-fetched concept. Thus this story was born and written.
A/N #3: I'm terrible at names, as you can see. Highly unimaginative…hence Reynard Cuthbert was born. I changed it at lest five times, and it still sounds off.
Thank you for reading!
— Tegril