On the Children
Chapter 4
Will knelt down near the boy, studying him under the dim light. Now that his father had mentioned it, he could see that Henry was not asleep – his breathing was a shade too quick and his eyelids were fluttering.
He took the dry clothing Bootstrap Bill had left for him and gave Henry a shake. "Henry. No need to pretend."
The boy opened his eyes, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry. I – I didn't want to say anything."
Will managed to smile, the line of his skin pulling tight where the barnacles were clumped closer. "Change into this," he said, holding out the clothes. "They'll probably be too big, but you should let your own dry out."
Henry obeyed him, stripping out of shirt and pants. There was a dark spot on the chair where he had slept, and the blanket that had been draped around him was damp as well. Will put it aside, and when Henry was done (the shirt definitely too large, baggy and hanging to his knees, and the wrist cuffs had to be rolled up), led him to the large bed in the center of the room.
"But don't you need it?" was Henry's first question.
"I don't sleep during the night," Will said. It was only half an explanation – he did not need to sleep at all, part of the curse that kept him on the Dutchman and one which affected all the others bound to the ship. He knew crewmembers who had gone without it for several weeks with no ill effects. Henry appeared satisfied with that explanation and crawled into the bed.
"I have a lot of ships and soldiers at home," Henry told him. He kicked his legs under the thick covers so that they formed large ridges and swirls. "Mother used to tell me stories with them." He peered up at Will. "Did you really sail in a maelstrom?"
"We did. Your mother and I were married in the middle of it as well." And died in it. He wondered if Elizabeth ever mentioned that. Will hoped not; the memory of Davy Jones's sword twisting in his heart, the strange distant shock of recognition when he saw the weapon – I made that – and Elizabeth's sobbing, were still painful even after a decade. And the cost of coming back from it had been heavy.
Henry was watching him, apparently waiting for him to tell more. Very heavy, he thought.
No regrets, he told himself. It was something his father had told him, once during one of their calmer nights. The seas had been kinder that day, less souls needing to be looked after on their journey to the afterlife. It was always on those nights that he missed Elizabeth the most, the ache in his chest so terrible he would wonder if his father had made a mistake and missed cutting out his heart. Surely with it gone, it could not have hurt so much? Perhaps it was not in the chest and that had only been a delusion he made up.
They both, he and his father, had his regrets, wishes that they had done something different. Maybe if Will had fought harder. Maybe if he had not glanced at Elizabeth and drawn Davy Jones's particular ire for lovers. Maybe if Jack had been able to stab the heart a little faster. Then it would not be him at the helm of Dutchman, but Jack, and he would be at home with Elizabeth.
"Maybe I could have resisted becoming part of the ship longer," Bootstrap Bill had said. "Maybe if I hadn't fought you, distracted you. Maybe if I could have taken Elizabeth out of Davy Jones's way. Maybe if I hadn't seen you at all on the Dutchman, hadn't bound myself to eternal servitude. Maybe if I hadn't sent you the piece of Aztec gold." He had shaken his head, something dark and heavy in his eyes. "Regrets, Will – they'll drown you. I know it. You'll spend your life wishing everything had gone differently and wasting what you do have."
If Calypso was wrong, Will had argued, then the rest of his life would be a very long one indeed.
"Aye. That will have to be seen." His father had not spoken for a moment, searching for the right words. "But you are not the only one who wishes things were different. We all made our choices in the end, and we have to live with it."
And that, oddly, had been its own source of comfort at the time. There was no way to change what had passed. He could only look forward and do what he could, and hope that the his service to the Dutchman would be lifted.
But now the hope was gone, and looking at his son, it was difficult not to let the regrets flood him once again.
"Did your mother tell you about all our adventures?" he asked Henry pushing aside the dark thoughts. At some point, he would have to leave him, but while he could, he would enjoy the little time they had now.
Henry, whose eyes had grown heavy-lidded, perked up again. "Most of them, I think. Some of them she said you were there, and didn't know what happened."
"And which are those?" Will inquired, curious. It seemed Elizabeth was always at his side in his memories, perhaps because she had been on his mind for so many years.
Henry's eyes were lighting up now. "The first time you saw the Kraken. Mother said afterwards that you knew how to fight it when it attacked the Black Pearl."
"Did she tell you what happened afterwards?" Will asked, thinking of Elizabeth kissing Jack, of Jack going down with the ship.
He blinked. "No."
Will smiled again. Of course not. It was an odd sensation, being part of the stories now. Elizabeth, especially, had been fascinated with pirate stories, and had told them to him on the rare occasions when they met each other. They had been children then, and Will's master had still been trying to give him a half-decent education in blacksmithing, but Elizabeth had sought him out anyway. He had no idea why at the time, why the spirited, high-born governor's daughter would be speaking to a tongue-tied blacksmith's apprentice who had often felt dumb as an ox in her presence. But seek him out she did, whispering tales of pirates in the nearby islands, of the fantastical curses and myths out there, of their hidden dens in Tortuga.
When they found themselves a part of the stories, it was different. Elizabeth had told him first of the terror of Barbossa's crew, then of Jack's "escape" from the desert island. The reality is always a lot messier than the stories, she had said wryly.
Henry's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Can you tell me?"
Will shook himself. "You mean what happened when the Pearl went down?"
"No, the first time you saw the Kraken."
All the men on the ship had died because of him, and according to his father, that had been when Bootstrap Bill had begun his descent into madness. "Perhaps another time. Were there any other stories your mother neglected to tell you?"
His son thought for a moment. "The Pelegostos? She said you rescued Jack Sparrow there, but she never told me how."
Yes, he supposed the tale of a tribe of cannibals would have to do. "Ah, that was an adventure. Captain Jack Sparrow rescued himself, I believe," he began. "But I was searching for him. Men around the Caribbean directed me there, but the ship I was on did not dare to land on its shores…"
The tale went on, though he left out details like what exactly the cages had been made of. But he doubted his son even noticed, occupied as he was with his valiant effort to stay awake. He lost the battle, and within a few moments was asleep, curled under the warm covers.
Will glanced out the window and saw it was nearing sunrise. They would not make the underwater journey back to the land of the living now, but sunset was as good a time as any. He stood and paused, stretching his left arm. The growth of barnacles were heavier, and he could feel them traveling up the cloth he kept wrapped around his head, and down behind his ears and growing in his hair. He hoped the crew was not affected yet, and resolved to ask among them to see.
All of it would be gone in a few days, he told himself, once Henry was back. But the thought was not as consoling as he thought it would be.
When Henry awoke, daylight was throwing shafts of sun through the windows and across his bed. He shook his head groggily, his hair mussed up and still clumped, and sat up. Even with the light, the cabin was still relatively dark, but he could not see anyone else in there with him.
His clothes had been thrown over the chair to dry, and he changed back into them. A meal was also waiting for him on the table, which he gobbled down. As he ate, he peered through the mullioned glass of the doors. The ship seemed active, the darkened figures of men passing by with regularity, rolling barrels or hauling on lines.
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve (which his mother would have scolded him for, but she wasn't there), he opened the door and stepped out.
His ears were met with the sounds of the sea and the shouting of men. Ropes cracked in the air and the wood creaked under his feet with every shift of the ship. The seas were so calm that this movement was fairly small, but for Henry, unused to being on one, it was difficult to keep balance – and more so because the deck was quite wet. In fact the entire ship looked that way, the wood dark and shiny. Seaweed was draped over railings, the poles and masts speckled with grime and rust, and the sails were dark with what looked like mold. When he held onto a beam for balance, his hand came away wet and almost slimy.
And the men. He remembered what his father had said last night, about the crew not wanting him on the ship, and he hesitated now, not wanting to go among them. The ones nearby had caught sight of him. Most turned away, but one or two seemed to be glaring at him. He shied back, wondering if he should just go back to the cabin.
A hand fell on his shoulder. "Don't go down there."
Henry started and turned to find his father behind him. In the daylight, the growth of barnacles was more noticeable than ever. His father's coat also seemed more ragged, and the edges looked soggy with water. He even smelled a bit different – a little salty, a little fishy.
But this was his father and this was Henry's fault and he was a great big boy of nine years old, and he would not show that he was scared. Especially not in front of his father, who had fought undead pirates and cannibals and the Kraken itself.
"Will they hurt me?" Henry asked.
"No."
Henry swallowed. "But they're angry at me."
The hand on his shoulder tightened. "They'll obey me." Henry glanced down at it and quickly away, seeing shells and strange growths and not wanting to say anything.
His father seemed to notice, and removed his hand. "You're frightened." He stepped back. "You do not need to look if it scares-"
"I'm not scared." Henry forced himself to look up, and to hold his gaze. "And I don't care."
Will managed a smile at that. "Then you have your mother's bravery."
He found himself examining Henry in wonderment all over again at the sight of the boy in the daylight. He had hardly ever been around children much, and almost never in the last ten years, save for the ones tragically lost at sea, and he tried to recall everything about his own childhood and anything a boy might need. A child, one not dead or bound to the ship and utterly dependent on him, was a sobering thought.
"Have you eaten?" he asked Henry; if there was one thing he could remember about his own childhood, it was the constant ache of hunger.
Henry nodded. "Thank you," he said, and remembering his manners, "and thank you for the bed and clothing." He tried to absorb himself in looking around the ship. "Do you really ferry souls here?" he asked.
"I do."
"Are they here?" Henry glanced around, not really sure what souls looked like. He envisioned wispy ghosts floating around them and wondered if anybody in the crew was a "soul". They all looked a bit too solid, though.
Will shook his head. "Not here. They come in the waters, and only at night." He led Henry to the edge of the ship, pointing to the blue ocean. "The ones who drowned float beneath, while the ones who died aboard a ship come in boats."
"Where do you take them?"
"The afterlife."
"What does it look like?" Henry asked eagerly. He knew, of course, that there was a heaven for good people and a hell for bad, and that hell was a fiery place full of tortures, but heaven was a bit harder to think of.
His father only smiled again, but more sadly. "I've never seen it. We can't go there, because we're not dead. Only the souls enter. It's just… a fog." He pointed towards an area of the ocean that looked exactly the same as everywhere else. "During the nights, we lead them there, and when day comes, we come back, and find those who are lost."
"How do you find them?"
"I can sense them." Will led him up the stairs to the very top of the ship, where the wheel was. At the helm was the first mate, who Henry had seen last night. He regarded the much older man with mixed feelings. This was the same man who had rescued him when he had almost been drowned by the waters, and who had kept the angry crewmembers from attacking him, but Henry had also heard him say that he had whipped Henry's father. Why would he whip his father? Henry, whose mother had never raised a hand against him, could not imagine it.
"Henry, this is the first mate," said his father now. The man at the wheel smiled slightly and tipped his head at Henry. "Master Turner," he said.
Henry's father seemed rather amused as he said, "You can call him-"
Something strange happened then. Henry saw his father glance at the first mate for a second, looking oddly hesitant. And then he saw the first mate move his hand, like he was waving a fly off.
"Never mind." His father led him away from the wheel so they were looking out at the sea again.
Henry glanced between the two of them, feeling very much like he was missing something. "What do I call him?"
"Ah." His father looked rather funny then. "You can call him Mr. … First Mate."
Henry distinctly heard the first mate snort.
"Father," he said, pausing to try the word out. He wasn't sure how his father would react to the next question, but there were too many things going through his mind about this first mate. In a lower voice, he asked, "Is the first mate… good?"
His father frowned, which made Henry want to run back to the cabin and never ask any questions again. "He's a good man. One of the best I've known." There was a creak at the wheel. "Why do you ask?"
Because I heard him say he whipped you. "My mother said that Jack Sparrow's first mate led a mutiny. And that he kidnapped her and tried to kill you." Though she had also said that Captain Barbossa had later helped them against the East India Trading Company… it was all very confusing.
And then the strange thing happened again. Henry saw his father and the first mate look at each other, and now he was sure that something had passed between them. He could not describe what emotion the first mate was feeling – he looked at once both angry but also rather sad. It made Henry just feel irritated – he wasn't stupid, he could see they were keeping something from him, but for some reason they didn't want to tell him.
Then his father said, "Captain Barbossa married your mother and I."
"He did?" His mother had never mentioned that.
"Yes. And most first mates don't lead mutinies."
"Oh."
Will placed a hand on his shoulder. "He has been here for ten years. I trust him."
It still didn't quite answer the question of why he would whip his father, but maybe it was another story that he would get to hear. So Henry accepted it.
Nearing sunset, the crew started becoming more active. Henry, on the few times he was amongst them, caught them tying down the cannons and taking supplies below; a few half-heartedly tried to get rid of the seaweed or scrubbed at the grime, to little avail. His father had spent some of the day practicing swordsmanship with him. Henry's mother had started teaching him the basics: the types of weapons used and the grip and the beginnings of footwork. She'd told Henry that it was his father who had taught her, and that she hoped he would teach Henry as well. She'd said that his father was the most skilled swordsman she had ever met.
"Then why did he lose so much?" Henry had wondered at one point. It seemed that many of her stories would begin with his father in a duel but end with him being beaten. Or knocked out. Sometimes both.
She had laughed. "Because he's also one of the most honorable swordsmen I've ever met, and everyone else always cheated."
And now he had been taught by his father for true. They had practiced with mock swords in the captain's cabin, his father correcting form and technique ("Arm extended," he had said, circling Henry with an expert's eye. "Remember, it is a series of attacks and parries. Watch your form."), practicing against the sparring dummy and against his father himself (who "lost" against Henry the first time, which Henry protested, and afterwards gave no quarter). And there were more stories: stories about the curse of the Aztec gold and how his father had stolen the Interceptor, or how he had tried to infiltrate the den of Sao Feng, or what the Kraken had looked like. At other moments, Henry had told his father about himself - growing up with only his mother, playing with the village boys, his studies, what he did at play, what he wanted to do in his future. Will had soaked up every bit of information, wanting to know as much as possible about this son he had not known he had.
They had not gone below deck. Will had said it was because Henry had already gone down there, but Henry also thought it was because of the crew – he had seen more men sending him sour looks when they thought his father was not looking. It brought that knot of guilt, temporarily forgotten during their practice, back to the forefront.
Now, having emerged back outside and looking around at all the activity at his place near the wheel, he asked his father, "What's happening now?"
"We have to return to the land of the living," explained Will. "Has your mother ever told you how we did it when we rescued Jack Sparrow from the Locker?"
"Yes, but I didn't really understand it," admitted Henry. Something about falling off the edge of the world, and tipping the ship over...
Will led him back to the cabin, explaining all the while. "Whenever the sun crosses the horizon, this world and the land of the living... tips." He used his flat hand to indicate this, palm facing down, resting a tiny toy ship he had grabbed from somewhere on top of it. "And the water tips with it, so if you flip the ship when it's underwater-" he did so, so that the ship was under his hand, resting against his palm "-then at sunrise or sunset, the world tips-" he flipped his hand, "-and all the water comes down with it."
Henry struggled to comprehend this. "But isn't the world round?" His eyes traveled to the globe in the corner of the room.
That made his father give a surprised laugh. "It is. Let me see…" He appeared to think for a moment, then went over to the table and brought over a map. It was only of the islands and seas around them, but effective enough for his purpose.
"Think of this map as a slice of the top of the globe," he said, spreading out the roll. "You live here…" He tapped the small island where Elizabeth had made her home. "But we are… here." And he put his hand under the map, directly under the island, and tapped, pushing up the paper. "The land of the dead. It's how I can sense those who died, even if they are in the land of the living. Your mother and I, we tipped over the Black Pearl so that it could end up-" Finger on top of the map again. "-back here."
Henry still wasn't sure he understood, but he didn't want to annoy his father with more questions. "Is that what we're going to do? Tip the Dutchman?"
"No." Will rolled the map up again. "We have a better method."
The sun was almost below the horizon, and Will and Henry were up at the wheel with Bootstrap Bill. Most of the crew were below – Will had not missed the rancor towards his son, and had also made it clear that he would not tolerate it. A few remained above deck to make sure nothing came loose, most of them carefully avoiding looking at Henry or catching their captain's eye.
Will had explained everything that was going to happen, and had learned of how Henry had survived the first dive by hiding down in the hold, but it could not alleviate his worry. Keeping them both above deck meant there was little risk of Henry drowning when the lower decks were flooded, but a much higher risk of the boy being swept away, as he almost had been when Will had thought of him only as a stowaway. And if they did not time their descent well, Henry might very well end up drowning anyway waiting for the waters to "fall".
His own father was probably thinking the same thing, judging by the small glances he kept sending their way. When Will met his eye, Bootstrap came over.
"Perhaps we should get a rope?" he suggested, gesturing towards Henry.
Will considered the thought, then nodded. As Bootstrap went off in search of one, Henry asked, "Why do we need a rope?"
"We're going to attach a line to you and tie it to the wheel, so you don't get swept off by the waves."
"Can I still stay here with you?" His father's nod seemed to reassure him, and he made little protest when Bootstrap returned and they began winding a length around Henry's waist. The other end they secured to the base of the wheel. Will kept checking the sun, watching it sink lower below the horizon.
"Make ready!" he shouted, causing Henry to jump slightly. He wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders. "Steady! Steady…" The sun continued to slip lower, lower, until there was only a sliver of light remaining. "Down!"
With a crash, the bowsprit plowed into the water, splitting the waves so that they gushed down the sides, forming giant swirls about them. Foam and splash drenched the men on the lower decks and splashed into Will's face – he felt Henry grab onto his arm – and then the waters roared back over the ship as they sank into its depths, now tilting so that it was nearly vertical, Will feeling the familiar lilt of his gut –
Then the ocean rushed at and drowned him. The force of it slammed into him and he instinctively pressed Henry closer, feeling like the sea was trying to rip his own son from him. He had a sudden terrible thought of Henry drowning, of ferrying his own son's soul to the afterlife –
He grasped desperately at the wheel, though the foam was blinding him, and his hand found it just as the waters cleared. In the blue-black haze of the ocean, he could see his men bracing themselves against the water; the rope holding his son was fluttering madly against the current. The roar dimmed into the heavy silence of underwater, save for the low, haunting echo of the currents they had formed in their dive. The ship careened lower, slanting ever more vertically, heading for the darkness of the sea bottom –
Distantly, Will was aware of the sun sinking – and a flash.
And then the sea bottom was growing not darker, but lighter, it was forming not the solidity of sand and surface but becoming speckled, becoming roiling waves –
Then the water was meeting them once more, crashing down on their heads like a mallet, and the ship was plunging through, standing almost upright. For a second Will thought they had missed the angle, that they might tip backwards – then he heard a deep creak and felt another swoosh of his stomach, the wind cold against his face, and the ship came plunging down. Its hull hit the water with a massive smash that almost sent him off-balance, the ship careening back and forth from the impact, but gentling as it found its balance – and in the distance, he could see the sun emerging from the horizon.
They were back.
As soon as he was steady, he turned his attention turned to Henry, who was coughing out a good deal of water. Will tried to untie the rope, but the knots had grown tight with the water and his own hands were too slippery. Fumbling, he pulled out his knife and cut it loose, tossing it aside. Henry swayed with the boat, looking dazed, and Will grabbed hold of Henry's shoulder, looking him up and down. "Are you all right?"
Henry nodded, but his dazed eyes and the way he leaning into Will's grip belied that. Will pulled him closer, steadying him against the wheel.
Someone stepped near him, proffering up a blanket. "Here."
Will sent a grateful glance towards his own father, then pulled off Henry's drenched jacket and laid the slightly less wet blanket over his body.
"Take him back to the cabin," Bootstrap suggested from somewhere behind Will.
"Right." He stood, taking Henry near him, and caught an amused look from Bootstrap. He shook himself; the presence of his son had become distracting, leaving him floundering on his own ship.
Being back in his quarters was something of a relief. Returning to the land of the living only made him feel more monstrous, the sunlight glaring down on the barnacles infesting his body. When his father had still been enslaved on the Dutchman, his touch had been clammy, sometimes even slimy. Bootstrap had to have been aware of it, as he had avoided touching or coming too near Will. Now Will could feel it in himself, his hands seeming colder, wetter – but Henry clung to it with all his might, either not minding or not caring.
"Do you need to rest?" asked Will, stopping Henry near the bed and placing both hands on the boy's shoulders.
But Henry shook his head, pushing wet strands of hair away. "Are we almost there? Almost home?" He grabbed hold of Will's arm, and Will knew he wasn't asking because he wanted to leave, but because he was afraid his stay was almost over.
"No." Will led him back to the table, both of them dripping water all over the floor. "I'm going to figure out where we are, but once we do, we'll be able to get there quickly. The Dutchman's the fastest ship in these waters."
"Mother said the Black Pearl was faster."
Will smiled, a memory forming. "With the wind, yes, it can outdistance the Dutchman. Against the wind, this ship has the advantage." He pulled out the maps. "Here. We'll find our location with this."
"How do we do that?" Henry asked curiously, still tucked in his blanket.
With maps and compasses and telescopes, with landmarks and charts and lines. Will let him see how the sailing master would mark out the fathoms and check the material of the seabed, with Will showing Henry the kinds of sand and rock and mud that could be dredged up. As they were met with certain island formations, they used it to plot out distances. And he let Henry try out the telescope; the boy had a small one at home but had never used the long glass.
"Could I see you with this? From home?" Henry asked, peering around with it outside the cabin.
Will shook his head. "No. You can't find me with any telescope, Henry."
Henry put it down. "I'll look anyway. Even if you're not there."
Will put his hands on Henry's shoulders, trying to find something reassuring. "Remember the map, Henry. I am there, even if you can't see me."
Henry twisted the telescope in his hands. "Will you think about us?" he asked. "Mother and me?"
Will knew he ought to cut their bond, knew that Henry would not ever see him again and that the kindest thing would be to tell Henry to forget about him - but looking at his son's wistful expression, he could not find it in himself to do it. "I'll think about you every day," said Will. "I thought about her every moment when I was gone."
Henry brightened slightly. "Then maybe I will find you. If you think about us, and we think about you, then you won't really be gone." He aimed the telescope again, missing his father's sad smile.
It was afternoon when they caught sight of the island Henry and Elizabeth lived on, though it was only a distant dark spot. Upon seeing it, Will felt Henry tense, and he put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "We have a few hours left," he murmured.
But knowing that the time of parting was near only seemed to make it go by faster. They needed time to row Henry ashore, and time for whoever went with him to come back, and so they came within sight of its beaches when the sun was still hovering above the ocean horizon. Will made ready the boat, hauling it down.
And now that the moment had come, Henry was nearly in tears. He had had less than two days with his father, and now he was supposed to leave and wait ten years for him to come back? It wasn't fair.
"Are you going to come with me?" he asked.
"The first mate will go with you," said Will, glancing back. Bootstrap Bill was waiting, and Will felt an odd twinge of familiarity. It had been a different time and a different captain, but this was the same place where his father had watched his son leave, not sure when he might ever see him again.
Henry ducked his head. He wished it was his father going with him.
"Can't I stay?" he said in a rush. When Will stiffened, he said, "I could tell Mother. Or she can come! We can all-"
"No." Will's voice was flat. "Not on here. Not either of you. The men here are not slaves, but they have taken an oath, and it changes you."
"I can take it-"
But his father shook his head, looking almost as stern and frightening that night Henry had met him. "There's no place for you on the Dutchman. You have to leave, Henry."
Henry rubbed his foot against his deck. A question was forming, gathered from half-understood remarks between his father and the crew. "You'll come back, though? In ten years?"
When his father hesitated, Henry knew the answer.
"Henry, you must let me go-"
"No!" He rushed towards his father but the older man held him back, pressing his hands against his shoulders. "No, Father, you have to come back, we-"
"This is my fate, Henry." Will stopped his son's struggles, grasping his arms. "I'm bound to this ship for all eternity. You and your mother have to live your life. You have to stop waiting for me."
"No!" This wasn't fair, it wasn't right – he only had two days with his father. "Father, please-"
Will looked to his own father, and saw his own sorrow mirrored on the older man's face. "I'm sorry, son."
Henry rushed towards him, and this time Will met him on his knees, gathering him up. Henry clutched at him, and even though his father felt cold, and wet, and the shells were rubbing painfully into his face and he smelled stronger than ever of fish and the sea, he didn't care; all he could think was that this was the last time he might ever hold on to him.
"I'll find a way to free you," he whispered, and was puzzled when he not only felt his father tense, but saw the first mate snap his head around as well.
"Don't," Will said. He pulled back to look at Henry. "Do not try to free me. Whatever way there is, there's always a price to pay. And it's always a very high one."
"But I want to," Henry insisted, clutching at his father's shirt, still not understanding. "I want you to come home. I'll tell Mother, we'll find something, there has to be a way to break your curse-"
Will put a hand to his face. "Stay with your mother, and away from the sea. That's all you need to do. Forget about me and the curse."
"I won't." Henry looked mulish, as stubborn as his mother had. "I don't want to."
"Henry," Will said, voice low. "This is my fate."
Before Henry could protest more, Will moved away, but it was only to snap something from his neck. He placed it in Henry's hand – a long necklace, made up mostly of string but with a few strange shells and metal objects attached. And he knew it was contradictory, to tell his son to forget him and yet leave him with this memento, but he no longer cared much about that. He put a hand to Henry's face, looking at him seriously.
"Tell your mother that I love her. That I forgive her for her deception, and understand why she did it. And tell her that we have a wonderful son and that I love him very much."
Henry could feel a lump in his throat. He swallowed hard, not wanting to embarrass himself or his father by crying here.
His father moved forward until their heads were only inches apart, then touched, his hand cupping the back of his son's head. Henry clutched onto his father's shoulders, even though the shells were digging into his skin, wanting to stay in that position, wishing his father would just keep holding him.
Will pulled back; he was looking at Henry as if to memorize his face, knowing this would be the very last time he ever looked upon him. "It's time to go."
And then he was scooping up Henry and placing him on the boat, his hand lingering a moment on his son's face before releasing him, and the first mate was getting in beside him, but Henry didn't even notice, he was too busy watching his father drift further and further from him. And all too soon they were rowing away, but it was only when Will could no longer be seen that Henry push his face between his knees and began to cry, just a little.
A/N: Nearing the end! One more chapter to go!
I have little doubt that physical punishments were commonly used on children in the 1700s, but given that Elizabeth is described as a modern woman stuck in the wrong century, I figured I would give her some more enlightened views on child rearing as well.
Originally, I had Will say "Keep a weather eye on the horizon" to Henry at the end, as an echo of what he said to Elizabeth, but when DMTNT came out, it seemed clear to me that Will had resolved not to see Elizabeth or Henry again, probably to spare them pain. (I mean, "Your fate is to let me go" doesn't sound at all like "Wait for me, I'll come back".) I incorporated this into my story, but it meant that line no longer made any sense, so it had to be cut. It made me a bit sad, but at least you know it was in the original draft.
