Hello, loves! I'll make this as brief and clear as possible. We are Stephie and Raven, and we came up with the random (or not so random) idea to write a story together, largely inspired (but not at all related to) by Music When the Lights Go Out, a wonderfully done fanfiction also done by two authors. It's definitely worth a read – there's a pretty intense display of talent.
Anyway, I, Raven, will be doing all of the odd chapters from the point of view of Will Turner. Stephie will be doing all of the even chapters from the point of view of Elizabeth Swann. They will, however, all be under this account and this story, so don't worry about having to switch or anything.
Some important things to note:
This IS time-relevant to the movies. It is not modern.
Our writing styles do not exactly match. There will be differences and discrepancies, but that's part of the fun.
Warning: Rated M for violence, language, sexual activity and adult themes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Pirates of the Caribbean characters, plot lines, and dialogue.
Chapter: One - Playing Favorite
I tried my absolute best to ignore all of the stares I was getting as I walked through the disgustingly large building that was now to be my workplace. In a span of a few weeks, I had gone from being a simple blacksmith with a smithy large enough for the projects I took on and nothing more – and now, all of the sudden, I was to be teaching students that had probably never even seen a forge before.
A non-commission pay was nice. I had no problem with that. But I was only sodding twenty-five years old, and I was going to be teaching children anywhere from ten years of age to eighteen.
And the worst part? It was a bleeding all-boys academy.
At the very least, I had managed to avoid the dress-code that all of the other teachers had been required to wear. In their blue waistcoats and trousers and cravats and wigs, they all looked disgustingly the same – and all sent me the same sodding look of disdain as I walked past in my simply white shirt tucked into black trousers. I wasn't just making a fashion statement – wearing their shite in front of a forge would not only be reckless, it would be downright fucking stupid. It was just asking for something to catch on fire.
I wondered for several moments why I had agreed to the job in the first place, then decided to just let it be – after all, I couldn't sodding take it back now. Especially not when it was the governor that had had hired me. Governor Swann had been talking about opening up such a school for nearly a decade, and the construction had been finished not quite a month passed.
All of this explained the new teaching job, but not why he had selected me to fill it. I was skilled, that much I would not be modest enough to deny, but I was one of many skilled blacksmiths in the area, and there were older ones that would perhaps have been better for an institution such as this.
When a large clanging noise sounded through the hall, a short, expressive oath found its way out of my throat. Being late for my own class on the first day was not on my agenda – it would be hard enough to get the students to respect me in the first place, if the horror stories were to be trusted.
I picked up my pace and just barely slipped inside before the second bell sounded to let them know that class had started. The room was nearly full – more full than I had anticipated – with boys of all ages that clearly expected to be masters of the trade within a few days' time. I couldn't help the slight smile that had appeared at their eager faces as I was forced to remember when I, too, had thought that.
"Ahem," I said, clearing my throat awkwardly in an attempt to divert their attention from their obviously fascinating teen chatter and direct it to a more important subject – like, perhaps, their instructor.
Surprisingly, it was effective. The boys silenced and turned to look at me, their eyes wide with curiosity. Unfortunately, I had anticipated a bit of a struggle to get them to even glance at him, which would then have allowed more time for me to think up exactly what I was going to say.
"Uh," I began rather brilliantly. They waited expectantly for me to elaborate on such a thoughtful sentiment.
When I said nothing more for several moments, the students' faces began to change to show a sort of uncertainty, and I decided that it would be a good time to start forcing words out before they decided I was mentally unfit to stand before them.
"Welcome to class." Right, welcome – great start, Will. What next? I took a deep sigh. "I'm just as new as the rest of us are," I finally admitted, "so I'm not entirely sure what I am supposed to be doing quite yet."
This was met with a few chuckles, but mostly silence.
Another painstaking breath and I continued, "I am sir – mister – professor…" I trailed off, realizing with a start that I didn't have the slightest clue was people were supposed to call their instructor. Rolling my eyes heavenward, I shook my head out.
"Sod ordinary format," I said bluntly, taking a new approach. "Let me start over. Hi, welcome to blacksmithing. I'm not much older than some of you, so don't bother with the title – my name is William Turner, and I'm fine going by Will."
This seemed to capture the students' attention fairly well, and I could practically feel them leaning forward, inspecting the teacher that was so different from all of the rest. I took this to be a good sign.
"By the end of the year, you'll all have several scars," I informed them flatly. "Even the best of us still burn ourselves sometimes – it's inevitable. If this will be a problem, feel free to take your leave, and I will bear no ill will."
I could see it already in a handful of their faces. They had resolved to quit the class right there and then, but would not say or do so in front of their friends for fear of looking like a wimp. That was fine with me, though. With nearing twenty kids in the class, five or six opting out would probably be a good thing, and it was certainly better than the alternative – I didn't want to deal with teenage boys that found themselves unable to handle the smell of burning flesh and the pain that obviously went along with it.
"However," I continued, "with any luck, you will also have accomplished something much more: at least the minor ability to work with and understand the properties of different metals, until you can create something like this."
With a confident and even somewhat smug grin, I pulled from a leather sheath one of my best works to date: a large, long, perfectly balanced sword that perfectly reflected the awed faces of the boys in front of me. It was in that simple reflection that I noticed the eyes that seemed to stand out from among the rest of them.
Slightly startled, I followed the reflection to find the young man in the crowd. The boy was slender as I'd ever seen one and pale, too, with soft features and huge butterscotch eyes. My brows pulled together. I had never quite seen such traits in a male, though this one seemed to be quite young – thirteen or fourteen years of age, I estimated. It made it no easier to figure out what was so different with him.
Realizing that the students were actively awaiting more speech from me, I began to talk again, though I couldn't bring myself to stop studying the bashful boy.
"This, uh, this won't be anything within your league for quite some time," I continued. The boy suddenly looked up and met my eyes, and oddly enough looked straight back down when he realized his gaze had been met.
What an odd child.
"Within a few weeks, hopefully," I began again almost instantly when groans arose, "you will at least have constructed something of substance – a small knife, perhaps, or a horseshoe that you can bring home on the weekend."
As I unfalteringly ran my eyes over the large-eyed boy, I found myself noticing the other kids' reactions to him. They didn't seem to be purposefully omitting him, but rather instinctually were shifted away from him. Their bodies all leaned in the opposite direction of wherever he stood, and because of that he was fairly singled off towards the side. I took all of this in within a few seconds, trying to encourage my brain to multitask.
"If anything seemed to be getting too hard or you simply want to do some more work, I am always available after hours," I muttered distractedly. "I have Room 29 in the teacher's wing, and you are all welcome to seek me out there for assistance."
The more I took in the boy's features, the more the idea of the poor kid working with heavy tools and metal began to scare me. The boy was a twig, and terribly short at that, with arms that I could easily wrap my entire hand around and still have my fingers overlap. His cheek and jaw bones were clearly outlined in a way that none of the other boys in the room could relate to, and he seemed to be completely dwarfed by everything near him. The tables that came up to my waist came halfway up his chest – higher, even, than the ten-or-eleven year old that was still eying the blade.
"The rules in my class are very simple." Rules? When had I come up with rules? Shit, Will, pull it together! "Respect is an absolute must, for me, your fellow students, and any and every material you will be working with. You will be stretching and folding metal so hot that it could melt you skin with even the slightest contact, or light your hair on fire if you lift a hot utensil to scratch your face."
The oddly unnerving eyes lifted again, this time with a spark of curiosity, clearly the result of his teacher's unwavering focus on him, and then darted back to his fidgeting hands once more.
"Are their any questions?" I finally, reluctantly asked, coming to the conclusion that whatever it was that made the boy different was none of my business and also something I would probably never know.
To my extreme surprise, it was this boy that raised his hand slowly.
"Yes, Mr…?" I asked with a raised brow.
"Swann," the boy answered in an odd voice that I didn't know what to make of. It seemed to be almost too high for any given man, but the child was also making an effort to make it more hoarse. Probably hadn't started development yet, I curiously mused. That would certainly explain the tiny frame, too.
I had become so immersed in my dissection of the kid's voice that I hadn't actually heard the name being spoken.
"Come again?" I requested.
"Swann," the boy answered immediately, sounding slightly flustered. "Eric Swann."
This captured the attention of not only me, but the students around him. Swann? He couldn't possibly be related to Governor Swann...
I could see similar thoughts register across the rest of the boys' faces, their expressions like open books.
The last anyone knew, the Swann family had consisted of only two children – Elizabeth and her late brother, who had passed less than a year ago. There were rumors circulating that it had been by his own hand, but I had never paid much attention to those, anyway. Still, that name was not a common one, and I was fairly certain that outside of them, the only other family member was a male cousin.
However, despite the looks he was receiving – and the blush that crept into his cheeks – the boy offered no explanation.
"I was wondering when we actually begin working with metal," he said very simply.
I felt a smile work its way onto my face. He was one of the impatient ones, then – one of the ones that figured they would have the necessary skills down within minutes.
"Tomorrow," I informed the young boy. "Today, we will go over the tools and the like, and tomorrow, we'll get at using them." Normally, I would be just as eager as they were to get in on the real stuff, but I had to allow at least the buffer day so that the kids who were uncomfortable could get out of the class without having to be exposed to the metal and heat they were so afraid of.
I opened my mouth to continue, thinking the questions done, but the Swann child raised his hand once more.
"Yes, Eric?" I asked, unable to disguise my surprise.
"What will we be working on?" he wanted to know.
I blinked, diving into my mind to try to think a project that was relatively simple but would satisfy the students' need to feel accomplished.
"A screwdriver," I decided out loud.
Eric seemed to accept this with a simple nod of his head, and the rest of the boys began to actively discuss the upcoming project.
"Any further questions?" I wanted to know before I continued.
Almost comically, Eric raised his hand again, and this time I couldn't help but stare at him for a moment before inclining my head, beckoning him to inquire whatever was on his mind.
"Will metalwork be all we do in this class?" There was a spark in the boy's eyes that left me momentarily disconcerted, but his actual question reminded me that I had forgotten a vital part of the curriculum.
"No," I said, sounding just as surprised as the rest of their faces suggested. "Actually, that's not all." There was a brief, expectant pause, before I explained, "We will also be working in the art of swordplay, and at the end of the year, there may even be some duels where you wield your own creations."
Excited noise because to bubble throughout the room as my students' eyes visibly widened, and I couldn't help the content feeling I got from knowing they were all so anxious to get started. My eyes led me back to Eric, who had the most curious glint in his eye – almost as if that had been not only what he wanted to hear, but what he expected to hear.
It was in that moment that I decided that Eric Swann was going to be my favorite student.
I'm fairly content with this chapter, though I would encourage you to keep in mind that Will is most likely going to become gradually more thoughtful and I get a better feel for his personality. Right now, I'm not entirely sure where I stand with him, so it's hard to describe in vivid detail every little thing he's thinking. I am trying, though, and I will hopefully have it down within the next chapter or two! Don't forget to review, because comments from the reader are the single best source for figuring out what I'm doing right and what I need to work on.
Thanks,
Raven - Emancipated Rebels