Ch 2… yes, I have continued it. I am very happy for all the comments you have left! (In case you are interested, I am in the midst of another Pirates story called "Legends of the Pirate King," which is a different post-AWE fic, slightly more traditional take on the characters, less emotional and more swashbuckling. I'd love it if you would check it out, too.) But back to the main event… a bit more easing into the story, and then things will pick up.


Obsidian. The molding of the rail might have been obsidian, for all it was black and smooth as the stone. Elizabeth traced it with shaking fingers as she followed Jack Sparrow towards the dock, the rotten smell of the Thames thick around them, the hum of the night people distant in the fog. Somewhere, a clock struck 3 AM. Elizabeth jumped in her skin and pulled the heavy cloak closer around her shoulders. The cold of England had settled in her bones, her pale skin, her heart. She could never get back the last five years. She could never do away with the marks they had made on her.

Gunshots behind them. At this hour? Elizabeth was poised for flight, but Jack tightened his grip on her arm and ushered her forward. "Behave yourself," he hissed into her ear. "We are hardly common criminals." Elizabeth looked behind with frightened eyes to see a young woman, barely her own age, fall into the slush of the street with a cry. Soldiers came running, their sabers drawn, one rifle still smoking. Noisy chatter; they had got the thief, by George! Got her right in range and shot her. Elizabeth shuddered and with difficulty, turned away.

Was she expecting the Black Pearl, or a muddle of drunken sea-dogs for greeting? It must be so, for what she actually observed shocked and unnerved her. The ship was immaculate, rich, and far too grand. It was a three-masted square rig, and every sail was trimmed with the finest weavings, the wood new and gleaming black under the half-moon. A silent first mate awaited Jack at attention; foreign eyes under a wine-red hood, a curved and jeweled sword at his side. He spoke to Jack in a language Elizabeth didn't understand, and to her surprise, Jack responded in kind. He turned to her with the smooth, careless grace of a courtier.

"My lady. Welcome aboard the White Araby. You'll share a cabin with me."

"Isn't there room below—" Elizabeth began to ask, and then thought better of it. Certainly there was. The ship was massive, though simply named for what was clearly a warship. But this enigma of a man before her was not to be questioned; that much was clear. Obsidian. The black in his eyes might be Obsidian, for all they were devoid of any warmth.Oh Jack, what's happened to you?

"Ya effendim," the first mate called to Jack. "Yalla?"

"Na'am, shukran," Jack replied.

The first mate stepped closer, eyeing Elizabeth. "Hiyya?"

"Akht." Jack replied curtly.

"Ahlan wa Sahlan," the first made said, making a slight bow to Elizabeth. Within moments, a crew of silent and elegant crew members were making preparations for departure.

Elizabeth's head spun. She clung to Jack's strong arm, noticing his well-groomed hands, which had once been so rough and exciting. Half of her was ready to run all the way back to Aunt and Uncle's house, gather William close in her arms, and never step foot out the door again. But the stubbornness that had always plagued her won through.

Jack led her under a geometric arch, through a black door and down a wide corridor, where a heavy embroidered curtain was hung aside to reveal a sitting room with a hazy fireplace. Cushions were spread around the floor, and a low table was set with tea and wine. Jack made sure to tug the curtain across the entry, and then sank onto one of the cushions. A deep sigh escaped his lips.

Elizabeth shrugged off her cloak and joined him, not pausing to examine the curious room. The tea was served in small crystal glasses, through which the steaming amber liquid could be seen. The glass burned her fingers and Jack smiled slightly.

"Hold it by the top, and drink fast," were his only instructions. For himself, he chose an exquisite decanter of wine so red it was almost black. Elizabeth watched as he lifted a half-filled goblet of it to his nose and swirled it slightly, enjoying the fragrance. A brief sip, nothing more, and then he set it back down. The room smelled thickly of incense.

"No rum?"

"I'm afraid not. My tastes don't run in that direction." Anymore, was the unspoken word.

"Jack, I'm either going to ask you a million questions or you're going to tell me everything and save me the trouble. Which will it be?"

Jack's face was suddenly encompassed with exhaustion again, the same look that had surprised Elizabeth in her bedroom a half hour before. "Some things are better left unsaid."

"Not everything," she returned, setting down the tea, which was far too sweet. "You've got me here, aboard your ship, ready to give up everything in my life for this adventure. I won't sail around with a dead man walking, Jack. I won't!"

"Demanding as ever. Your years in London's society have made a bit shrill, I'm afraid. We'll have to do something about that. What will all your suitors do when they discover you've gone?"

Had he been spying on her, or was he merely making accurate guesses? "Don't trouble yourself on their behalf," she muttered. "Accepting one of them would have been the death knell to my heart."

"Poor little Elizabeth," Jack sighed, and she couldn't tell if he was mocking her or not. He was sitting cross-legged on the cushion, his posture perfect, his black hair gleaming in the firelight. A single sharp line of liquid kohl had been meticulously drawn to elongate his dark eyes, a far cry from the soft smudged charcoal that had once been there. And his voice was like obsidian in the warm room, a chill wind spreading over Elizabeth as she toyed with her glass of tea.

Without a word, Jack stood and stripped off his rich coat and the silk shirt beneath, his bare chest smooth as polished wood. Elizabeth bounded up and uttered a short cry of relief upon seeing the same familiar scars, though faded, littered across his skin. He glanced at her in surprise, a crease forming between his eyes.

"I was beginning to be afraid it wasn't you, after all!" she said, embarrassed. He glided to a table and began flinging off his jewelry.

"It's nigh on impossible to make them disappear," he smiled. "Believe me, I've tried." He strode to a set of French doors and opened them, revealing a small bedchamber. His movements were calculated, assured, graceful.

"Why am I here, Jack?" Elizabeth finally found the courage to ask. She hardly knew him; it was like parrying with a perfect stranger.

Jack hesitated, shifting his weight. And then, in a voice so soft Elizabeth could hardly hear him, he said, "Will you stay with me? I never sleep anymore… haven't been able to in so long. Nightmares, you see…"

So that explained the deep lines of weariness etched into his darkly handsome face, and the periodic droop of his proud shoulders. "Jack, what's happened to you?"

He jerked away from her touch, and nearly collapsed onto the bed. Elizabeth sat next to him, motherly concern washing over her pale face. He closed his eyes. "Stay with me. I swear I won't touch you. I just want to know you're here."

She laughed lightly. "I'm not afraid of you, Jack." She drew her hand over his face, over the tense forehead and smooth shaven jaw. She had never before seen his face shaven, and he looked old and beautiful, a marbled statue of a man. "Tell me about your dreams."

He shuddered. "I don't want to."

"Very well," she said bending to remove her shoes. "We'll talk about something else. Remember when we were stranded together on that island, years ago? Barbossa had taken the Pearl, and you and I thought we were done for."

"Until you burned the rum," Jack said, a smile spreading across his worn face. Elizabeth lay down on the enormous bed, almost intimidated by the deep down mattress and silk coverlets. She and her family were well-to-do in English society, but she had never before seen such wealth. Was Jack a pirate, or a king? She gingerly drew a blanket over him and propped her head up on her forearm. His breathing was rapid and unsteady. His vulnerability struck her heart in places she had long since closed. Could she bear to go back to the Caribbean? Was she strong enough to undertake this adventure?

"Where are we going, Jack?" she asked, unconsciously leaning against him. She felt blissfully secure, knowing he was there. For the briefest moment, she could remember the smell of the salt in the surf and hear the cry of gulls overhead. For the briefest moment, she was nineteen again, vigorous and filled with great dreams for life, teeming with possibility under the tropical sun. In those days, everything had spread out at her feet with delicious excitement. How happy she had been, thrust into the world of the infamous Jack Sparrow! How happy she had been leaning on Port Royal's bulwark, listening to Will ramble about the wonderful future awaiting them once they were married. How happy, and how simple.

"First to Ethiopia. We have to pick up a translator."

"Ethiopia," Elizabeth repeated, the name tasting exotic on her tongue. "Will it be a long journey?"

"Fairly. We'll take the African route, the long way round. There's a map on the wall, if you care to look."

Elizabeth shook her head. Months, then. Months stretching out into foreign lands, and already her arms were hungry for her son. Already she could hear the steady beat of his heart in her mind, chiding her, condemning her, crushing her. Blinking back stale tears, she cautiously rested her head on Jack's chest. She had prayed for a savior, but it seemed they both were wandering separate purgatories.

Never mind. Never mind anything. The monotony of life had settled into her heart like hemlock root, rocking her into an insensate daze of waltzing and fanning and dressing and watching her son emerge from the presence of his expensive tutors. She thought of the powdered, wigged dukes that sought her favor for their own vanity, the gaggle of ladies with their noses in the air, ready with a fake smile at any hour of the day. And the comments whispered behind gloved hands when her son was allowed to visit, endlessly speculating about who his father was. It sickened her to watch the young girls arriving at their first ball, eyes sparkling, unaware of the tragedy awaiting them. It sickened her to think that she was trapped among them. She had thought her spirit was broken and subdued, but now, here was a glimmer of hope at escape. The faintest hope, the worst decision of her life. But she wasn't afraid any longer. It was as though she had been dead, lived through every fear she had ever had… and now nothing had the power to really scare her. Her own recklessness was astounding.

"You smell like perfume," Jack murmured, relaxing, allowing one agile hand to brush through her hair, which was darker than he remembered. "You always used to smell like the sea. Like freedom."

"I bathe twice a week in lavender water. I'm a lady, Jack. Not a wild little girl chasing around the ocean with ideals just waiting to be shattered." The speech was like bile on her tongue.

"You've become very bitter," Jack commented. "I'd hate to think why."

"Perhaps the same reason you suffer nightmares?"

"Immortality comes with a price," was his only response. "Like love."


She hardly slept, for Jack moaned and tossed like a child, crying out in a strange tongue, his face anguished and his body damp with sweat. At first Elizabeth was frightened, but she whispered to him softly, and he would relax, only to jerk awake moments later in a terror. What visions kept him from sleep Elizabeth couldn't guess; she only assume that they were dreadful. When the cold light of dawn finally streamed through the wide picture-window, Jack drifted off. Elizabeth climbed out of the bed, feeling cold and dizzy. Barefoot, she wandered out of the bedroom and down the corridor until she found herself on deck. The channel was receding behind them, and the coast of France was ahead, a murky gray landscape cloaked in a dismal fog. Elizabeth smiled slightly, drinking in the scent of the sharp cold wind and the feel of it whipping around her. It was much better than sleep.

"Sabah Al Khair," the first mate said, materializing beside her. Elizabeth blushed as she remembered the loose white camisole she wore, but he kept a respectful distance.

"I'm sorry, I only speak English," she returned, wondering if he could understand her. To her surprise, he nodded.

"Good morning, then," his accent was foreign, but not nearly so thick as some. Elizabeth could understand each word perfectly. Had he been educated in England? "How did you sleep?"

"Not well," she admitted with a wry smile. "You look like you haven't moved since last night."

"Morning prayers." He bowed. "I am Mahmoud Abbas. And you?"

"Elizabeth," she said. She had taken her Uncle's Dutch surname when she returned to London, but that name she would discard now. She had worn many names, she thought vaguely. It was somewhat freeing to be simply Elizabeth. "When did you meet Jack?"

"The Viscount?" Mahmoud replied, astonished at her improper familiarity. "His Lordship employed me at the building of this ship, about a year ago. He was visiting family in India."

"Family?" Elizabeth murmured, wondering why she had never before thought of Jack having family. "His father and mother?"

"You are his sister," Mahmoud shrugged. "I would have assumed you knew."

Elizabeth bristled at Jack's lie. "Does he keep many women on the ship?"

"Sometimes he'll take one aboard, but never for long. No lady can be good enough for him, I think. He was married to a girl once. I think her death broke his heart. He cries her name out in his sleep sometimes."

"I see," she said, more curious than ever.

"A lady's maid has been employed for you at the last harbor. She'll bring you whatever you desire. Ya, Tusti!" Mahmoud called sharply into nowhere. And out of nowhere, Tusti appeared. Plump and dark skinned, with clipped black hair and downcast eyes, Tusti was decidedly foreign and serene as a summer afternoon.

"How did Jack—or rather, the Viscount, know I would be joining him?"

Mahmoud smiled at her condescendingly. "He has his ways. You're the last piece of the puzzle, it seems. He's been after this treasure a long time."