14.
I was dreaming. My head was laying on something soft, I was wrapped up warm. I didn't move an inch of my body, I didn't want to break this moment, and how I felt so comfortable, as if I were floating on a bed of air. It would explain why I felt so light and weightless. Maybe everything was a dream. A long, vivid and life-like dream. It was possible I was tucked away at home, my mother and father asleep somewhere nearby. I should feel overjoyed at the thought.
A pierce of pain, that was nothing to do with my arm as I slowly become aware that it's still burning. It can't be a dream. If it was another fragment of my over-active imagination, that would mean Will did not exist except in my fantasties. And he had to exist. It couldn't be a dream anyway, logic reassured me. My arm was broken. A clear sign, a sure indication. Barbossa had broken my arm the night after Will was captured. I felt a fleeting rush of joy. Regardless of everything else that happened, it was all real.
I didn't have the strength to raise my eyelids, although my mind was so busy, whirring with a thousand thoughts, I wouldn't return to the peaceful sleep I had woken from. Was I on the Pearl? The Empress? The Flying Dutchman? I couldn't hear the sounds of the sea, the waves throwing themselves against the ship. I couldn't hear Jack barking orders and Barbossa arguing back. I couldn't hear Sao Feng plotting, his whole crew rushing around in a flutter of activity. And I definitely couldn't hear the sounds of battle, of swords locking into fight. Besides, I concluded, if I was on the Flying Dutchman, would Davy Jones really allow me a good night's rest?
This bed wasn't familiar, either. My body sank happily into the soft mattress, sinking into the comfort that I oh-so craved. The duvet pulled around me was made of silk, and my good hand brushed against the material, my fingertips were as curious as I. Surely only royalty slept in such comfort? On the Pearl, the mattresses were rock-hard and pitifully thin. I used to receive terrible backache, but I'd grown accustomed to the uncomfortableness. On the Empress, the beds were considerably better but not this remarkable. And I doubted those monstrous creatures on the Flying Dutchman slept at all.
I was so bewildered, I pushed aside how glorious it all felt and opened my eyes. The first thing they registered as they blinked rapidly was the walls. They were painted a pastel pink, so faint that it could've been white with the merest touch of peach. This confirmed what I had been mulling over. Pirate ships did not have pink walls. I would know. Gently, I turned over and looked out of the window. Sunlight poured through a gap in the curtains that hadn't been closed, and I welcomed the morning sunshine, bathing in the lovely heat. I climbed out of the bed, my toes curling as my feet lowered onto the floorboards.
There wasn't much furniture, I noted. There was a bookcase, full of the big kind of volumes that my father used to read. The pages would be yellowed from age, and you'd have to blow off the collection of dust gathering on the heavy front-cover. There was a chest of drawers, and above it a mirror. It was there I wandered, eyes sweeping across the room to make sure there was nothing I had missed. I looked into my reflection, and my mouth drops in horror. There's a gash running from hairline to my jaw on the left side of my face. The wound was thick, swollen and puckered at the edges. What had happened? I searched my mind, but couldn't remember how I acquired such a grotesque mark.
It was hard to look at anything but the cut, but my reluctant eyes looked at my hair, falling in natural little waves, the way it only did when it was newly-washed. I had been bathed? I was also in different clothes. That beautiful dress I had before, courtesy of Sao Feng's maids, was gone, and in it's place a simple white night-gown which fell to my ankles. And - how had I not picked up before? - my arm was in a sling, a new one, carefully bound up in the way a doctor would bandage it. Was it possible that I was in hospital? I may have fallen overboard, washed up on some island and the locals may have brought me to a doctor? That was the only solution that made any sense.
The door opened rather suddenly; I jumped in alarm. It was a man, his wavy hair pushed aside, brown eyes smiling at me even as his mouth remained still, on the verge of shaping into a smile, but not just yet. He held a tray of breakfast, and the scene was so reminiscent of when I had brought him breakfast, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. I was rooted to the floor, stunned, feeling my heart race and my throat thicken, and I coudn't think of any words to say. Tears had sprung to my eyes. Of all the times to cry, I picked now. But I couldn't help it. I was so moved.
His kind eyes which always saw everything noticed this. And his eyebrows pulled together, he rested down the tray of fresh fruit and water, and closed the distance between us in a few short strides. He pulled me towards him, catching me in a embrace, careful not to knock my arm. I leant against his shoulder, head resting under his chin, as he gathered his arms around me. In the years that were to come, I would always return back to this moment. It was the first, the start of the beginning, and I had never felt so safe, so complete, as I did in his arms.
And I didn't know if he loved me. I didn't know how we had gotten here. I didn't know where he was, and I didn't know what he was thinking as he held me, and my tears dropped onto his shoulder. All I cared about was that he was with me, and he was safe. As long as I stayed with Will, I didn't care what happened.
Another update! I'm sorry if everybody's a bit confused but I'll explain in the next chapter or so. Elizabeth's with Will! I really wanted them to finally get together after thirteen long chapters. I hope you liked it, and thanks for reading - as always. (: