AN: Jack knew his father. His mother raised him by herself. And he has loved Elizabeth from the day they met…

…what if the most important scenes in the Pirates Trilogy never made it to the screen?

'She had the medallion…she's the right age?' Will is the son of Bootstrap Bill Turner. His only son. But did Bootstrap have a daughter as well? If so, what happened to her? And why was she never found?

A father's love. A family's loss. A young man's guilt and a friend's betrayal. Unexpected forgiveness, an untimely death…

Jack and Will. The greatest love stories are never romance.

"…An' then, they made me their chief."

Ironic, ain't it? How things kin change? Fortnight ago I was gonna live forever….an' now it be half pas' midnight, an' I go t' me death at dawn….Fortnight ago I was tellin' me story t' two lobsterbacks what didn't merit invitation t' a ceremony, about t' commandeer a ship….an' here I am, tellin' me story again, behin' bars.

But it's our las' night alive. So I entertains th' lads an' the guards alike wi' me life o' crime an' piracy. Many o' the details have been made up-seaturtles an' the like-but I've heard all th' stories, and I don't disappoint. I tell 'em scandalous intimacies wi' mermaids an' sirens, battles wi' sea beasts, sailin' roun' the world, sackin' Nassau (the highly edited, much proliferated an' exaggerated version, as it were), how I got me scars in that brothel in Singapore an' other….amorous excursions and th' like. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, see, an' I weave a good yarn. Been practicin' for some time. T' get what you want when you're bloody broke in Tortuga, you've got t' be able t' impress…

It be a month ago in Tortuga. Downstairs, in Tortuga, as it were. Not a bad place t' be…so long as you kin work your way up. Scarlet leans agains' me, gigglin' and soppin' rum down her front. She be well on her way to becomin' soddin' drunk…an' I be helpin' her out as best' I kin.

"Tell me 'bout yourself, Jack," She begs. "I've heard so many things…"

"An' what is it, love," I ask, takin' another swig o' rum an' starin' into her kohl-smeared eyes, "that you wan' t' know?"

She flirts teasin'ly back. "Oh, I scarcely know…s' tell me everything."

"Everything?" I slip me arm aroun' her. "Well, love, don't know if I kin, see? Whole lots of parts not fittin' what for a lady's delicate ears-"

She hiccoughs loudly an' snorts rum ou' her nose. "Well 'en, Mr. Sparrow-"

"That'd be Capt'n Sparrow, love."

"Alrighty then. Captain Sparrow. Perhaps we shou' go someplace what where we won' be….overheard?" She takes me han' in hers, an' leads me up th' stairs. Door scarcely shuts behin' us an' she's in me arms, an' I be grazin' up her neck wi' me lips.

"You want t' know me story?" I whisper right 'n her ear. "It's a dreadful long tale, love. What's in it? Well, whate'ver you like, really. There's adventure. An' treasure. Treasure as well…let me think…Revenge. Like a good revenge story? Good, good. An' romance. Aye. Romance like you would ne'er believe…Wha' else? Well there be escapes. An' murder. Chases on th' high seas…Aye, love. Sounds like a good story indeed… from th' beginning, then?"

An' it's funny, what, how stories work. What stock we put in 'em. The same story what buys a man all the pleasurable comp'ny he could ever want in Tortuga be in itself enough t' condemn him here…

Some people try t' measure a man by his story. Where he's been, what he's done. Some place t' much stock in the beginnin'. Who you were born, where you were born. Like that damn funny-wigged Governor what's-his-face. I'm sure his Commodore's a good man…but I'm damn certain he'd ignore his merits too if he'd been born lowly like me boy William. He places too much trust in jus' the beginnin', the endin' be damned.

An' yet some people do jus' the opposite. Put t' much stock in th' endin'. How well a man died. What all he accomplished. I've been aroun' the globe an' I hear tell of ol' Alexander, weepin' cause there weren't no more lands t' conquer. What like that bloody Commodore, determined t' leave behin' him a legacy o' military service and eradication…Or this damn clergy, what be goin' around, offerin' to read an' pray for us, like as not. Offer forgiveness for our sins, a pardon in heav'n, as it were…as though a final repentance at th' end o' a lifetime o' guilt be worth a damn.

One good deed does not pardon a life of wickedness.

An' yet regardless o' wha' a man does or how he ends… begins wi' bes' intentions or ends wi' deepest regrets…all men die. I don' suppose it really does matter nothin' wha' he dies wi' nor why, nor how… In th' end, we all be the same. Kings an' paupers…we go t' the grave as equals…

No, you can't measure a man, can' know him truly, wi' only seein' the beginnin' or th' end o' his life. You kin ignore 'em completely cause they tell you nothin'. It be the middle o' the story, intentions an' ambitions laid naked an' bare, what defines him.

An', like as not, condemns him.

Pirate or not, this man saved my life…That one good deed an' this lass be all what stood twixt me an' judgment. One good deed, what in her mind redeem me. Redemption. Fancy word, that. Interestin' concept, surely. An' far, far beyon' reach wha' for the likes o' me.

Cause th' opposite's true as well. Lifetime o' goodness an' charity ain' enough to pardon wha' I almos' done. Even if I had lived a good life, been a good man—man like me mate Will Turner—ain't no way in hell forty years o' goodness cou' e'er hope t' redeem me. An' sure as hell wha' poor show o' goodness I have t' me name coul' e'er be enough.

I spin me yarn for 'em, much like wha' I've done a hundre' times b'fore. They laugh an' snicker at parts, gasp an' reel a' others…I migh' smile, bu' me heart ain't in it. I be thinkin' o' a different story…An' that be the story I tell that damn dog in me head. What I tell t' you now.

It be quite diff'rent, though it be much the same story, filled what wi' adventure, treasure, murder, chases on th' high seas, an' amorous excursions…but ain't nothin' entertainin' nor divertin' abou' it ….Be a darker story. Filled what wi' obsession, fear, betrayal an' guilt. Filled wi' damnation.

Bu' mostly, it be different cause it be a true story. One ain't no good man cou' ever be proud o'.

Not even one what calls himself Capt'n Jack Sparrow.