In this chapter, I particularly had fun in writing a rousing post-battle, Pirate-King speech for Elizabeth to open the celebratory feast. Here, she truly shows her badass colours. This chapter may start a little slow, but first, Elizabeth has to see to hiding Will's heart.

Oh, and Jack will be back very soon (chapter 7) - I miss writing their banter!

Adventures of Elizabeth Swann: Chapter Five

Chapter Five: The Feast

"The seas be ours and by the powers, where we will we'll roam." Elizabeth sang mournfully as she rowed the commandeered dingy to the islet which she had so carefully marked out on Teague's charts. "Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colours high," her arms aching, she breathed a sigh of relief as the hull of the boat finally met with the shore, and, stepping out nimbly, she pulled the boat further on land. "Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die."

Reaching into the boat, she pulled the black chest which contained her husband's heart, and a small, roughly made shovel. With just a few hours until sunset, she would have to move fast. Walking briskly, she headed into the shrubbery, towards a rocky mound, within which, if she was not mistaken, lay a small cave.

Her first day 'at court' had certainly been busy. Her meeting with Teague had been shaky at first as she had found her footing within her new role. Without a battle to be fought and troops to be rallied, she had struggled to understand her place within Shipwreck Cove. Sure, she had proved herself. But what need did her people - her piratical people - need of her on a day-to-day basis? As she had predicted, the dress had certainly helped. Helped her confidence, at least. With her noble blood and a good upbringing, she had carried herself with all the airs and graces of any Queen, yet maintaining a fierce ferocity demanded by a King. And not just a King, but a Pirate King. She was Boudicca, Cleopatra, Grace O'Malley.

How many rooms had fallen silent at her entrance, over the years? She had always been well aware of her reputation as a 'great society beauty', and had always had numerous suitors hoping to win her affections. At the countless balls of her youth, she had perfected the graceful gait and slightly arrogant raised chin which she had utilised to her benefit as King, and, once again, her regal entrance has inspired a hushed, awed silence, even amongst pirates, as effectively as it had her suitors.

"King Swann." Teague had smirked, and she had nodded to him in response, seating herself at the head of the table.

A twinge of sadness as her eyes scanned the room, recognising few. Of course, he was not there, but she found herself longing for his presence, for him to witness what she had become.

Look at who I am, Jack. With perhaps a little guidance from you, I admit.

Stumbling on a rock which protruded jaggedly from her rough path, she cursed loudly, propping the chest against her hip as she reached down to rub her toe.

Not that I wouldn't have found my way without you, of course. I was born for this, Jack. You saw it before even I did. Born to be a pirate.

The shadows lay long, the golden glow of the dying sun casting a haze upon the earth. The cave lay just ahead, its entrance little more than a slither of darkness within the red stone. Perfect. No one would be able to enter, besides perhaps small children, and, she hoped, a very slender woman. And what would either, beside herself, ever be doing on such a godforsaken spit of land such as this?

Placing her hand upon the rock, she peered inside. The tunnel was not tall enough for her to enter while standing, and so she would be forced to crawl, pushing the chest along with her, little by little. Grateful that she had taken the time to change from her gown into breeches and shirt, she set herself to the task at hand, wrapping her hair in a bandana to keep it clean. She had to look presentable that night, for the feast, after all, and wouldn't have time to bathe again on her return.

Crouching on hands and knees, she crawled slowly into the mouth of the cave, pushing the chest ahead of her, the shovel dragging awkwardly at her side. The point of her sword scraped against the walls of the cave with each uncomfortable shuffle, and she found herself hoping desperately that she would be able to make it out again. What if the tunnel never widened? What if she couldn't find a suitable place to hide Will's heart? She had chosen this spot in haste, after all, stealing away a moment to look amongst Teague's charts. This island was uninhabited. Only luck had granted her such a perfect cave - or the perfect way for her to die. Elizabeth Swann, King, Captain, Pirate... suffocated to death in a tiny slither of a cave, clutching her beloved's heart to her chest. Tragic. Not that anyone would ever know what would have happened to her. She had told nobody as to her journey, commandeering a dingy so that even her own crew were unaware. One could never be too careful, with a cargo as precious as Will's heart, after all. Who could she ever truly trust in this world, after all? Even amongst pirates. Especially amongst pirates, she should say. Despite the fact that, at times, they had proven themselves to be the most trustworthy sorts of all.

Her fears were soon confirmed, her chin knocking against the lid of the chest as she compressed herself tighter into the shrinking space. Her ribcage felt contracted, a knot tightening in her throat. She could go no further, without surely trapping herself forever. The shovel would be no use to her. If only she hadn't brought the damned thing with her. Surely it had scraped a gash into her calf as she had dragged it roughly alongside her. She could feel the trickle of blood running horizontally down her leg. Dropping it to her side, she moved the chest out of her way as best as she could, and pulled her dagger from her pocket, using it as a rough shovel to dig at the earth, which was soft enough, luckily, and gave way easily. Flinging the debris ahead of her, she clawed at the ground with her fingers, panting furiously to herself. Was there enough air in here? Or was she blocking the passage sufficiently enough to suffocate? It was hard to tell. God, why did a human heart require such a large chest? She dug until her fingers bled, the dagger slipping twice, jabbing hard into her fingers and the palm of her left hand.

So much for looking presentable. She scoffed, feeling beads of sweat drip down into her eyes.

At last, the hole seemed just big enough to contain the chest, albeit beneath a small mound. Not that anyone would see. Whoever would be able to fit down there besides herself? Using her hands to scoop clumps of dirt into the hole, she patted the dirt brusquely, pausing to kiss her dirty fingertips, before pressing them atop the mound. "No one will find it here, my love." She whispered. "Your heart is safe now."

With that, she began to shuffle awkwardly backwards, abandoning the shovel, before thinking better of it, and grabbing it. The point of her sword was catching on every rough edge of the cave, and so she pulled it free from her waistband, the sword and shovel crossed awkwardly in front of her. She hardly dared breath until she felt a patch of grass beneath her calf, which, on inspection, was indeed bloody from the shovel, and, as she sat upright, relished the breeze on her face.

Pausing a moment to wipe her brow with a scrap of a handkerchief, and to clean the blood from her leg as best she could, Elizabeth stood, steadying herself for a moment against the cave as her knees quivered. She staggered towards her commandeered dingy, quite sure that her gait was more akin to Jack's at that moment. Throwing the shovel into the base of the boat, she grabbed a bottle of rum (how strange, she didn't recall bringing it with her, and yet she supposed that she must have done so), and, uncorking it, took a long, deep swig before pouring a generous amount against the wound of her calf, hissing sharply to herself at the sting. Taking another swig, she deposited the now empty bottle back into the boat, before clambering in herself.

The sun lingering just above the horizon.

Time for the feast.

Having scrubbed the dirt free from beneath her fingernails and washed the sweat from her brow in a basin, acquired for her by Perkins, as well as a slither of broken mirror, Elizabeth studied her reflection critically. Certainly, she would cause uproar were she to attend a society ball or even high tea, but for a Pirate King, perhaps the wild strands of hair and flushed, deeply tanned complexion would add to her overall appearance. Pausing for a moment, she pulled her hairpins loose with a tug, allowing her curls to fall around her shoulders as a wild mane.

It'll have to do. She thought to herself, placing down the mirror and brushing the last creases from her gown. The aromas of the awaiting feast hung heavy in the air, and she knew better than to keep the inhabitants of Shipwreck Cove waiting.

With all the poise of a Governor's daughter, she made her way down the hall, a hand lingering near the hilt of her sword, which was concealed in her skirts. The hallway was bare, but for a few stragglers, lingering here and there with a tankard of rum in hand, already looking very much worse for wear.

Most of the pirates were already in the great hall, and as she entered, the same hushed silence fell as she had experienced earlier that day, during her meeting with Teague. She felt every inch a King, and the hundreds of candles which adorned every available surface only gave her the appearance of a glittering statue of gold, golden hair, burning, spice-brown eyes penetrating the soul of anyone who dared look upon her. The flickering glow accented her harsh features, all sharp lines and dark shadows.

Once again, she found herself looking around for one man, one pair of dark, smouldering eyes. She wanted him to see her. If anyone ought to be there, it ought to be him, smirking from amongst the shadows, watching her.

For a moment, she saw him out of the corner of her eye, saw the trademark sway of his gait, heard the tinkling of his dreadlocks as the various beads and charms danced with his step. But as she turned her head, she saw that it was only Teague, walking towards her. He gave an exaggerated, perhaps even mocking, bow, hat in hand, it brushed against the ground as he stooped.

"Beau'iful, as always." He said, righting himself, placing the hat back atop his head. He seemed strange without it. Incomplete. "Kind o' you t' join us."

"I had a few matters to attend to." She explained, glancing around. The pig, which had been roasted in the large fireplace at the far end of the room, had already been carved, and several men and a redheaded female pirate were eating with all the dignity of the animal itself. "I see people had no qualms about feasting before my arrival." She cocked a brow.

"There be no fine manners 'ere, Cap'n Swann." Teague smirked.

Elizabeth noted the return to formality and was glad. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to make assumptions as to why Teague referred to her by her Christian name. Not that she was quite sure herself why she allowed it, besides the fact that she was a pirate, and therefore, hang with rules!

"I wouldn't expect any less." Turning sharply, she raked her eyes over Teague's belt. "May I?" Without waiting for a response, she pulled his pistol free from his sash, raising her skirts so that her boots protruded - let these men not forget for a moment what sort of King she was, after all - and climbed atop the nearest table, shooting into the rafters as she did so. A light dusting of debris fell to the ground, and all eyes were at once on her.

"Gentlemen." She began, chin raised as she projected her voice around the room. "Ladies." She said pointedly in acknowledgement to the few female pirates present. "No doubt you all already celebrated our victory yesterday, but I say, why limit ourselves to a single night of festivities after so great a triumph?" As she raised Teague's still-smoking pistol to the skies, the crowd of pirates cheered in agreement. "We come here tonight as victors in the greatest battle I wager any of us will live to see. The golden age is still upon us! Our freedom is secured, gentlemen - ladies! Secured by little more than our toil, by the strength of our backs, and the sweat of our brows, and the courage of our hearts! And fate shining down upon us!" Another cheer, the pirates stomping their feet in unison. "And we have a second reason for celebration, and it is the reason why I could not attend the last. During the height of battle, I was married, to one William Turner. Captain Turner, who, on stabbing the wretched, blackened heart of one Davy Jones, took his place at the helm of The Flying Dutchman." Wild-eyed, she paused to see the effect of his announcement. Instead of cheers, the crowd stared back at her, whispering to themselves.

"The Flying Dutchman!" She heard one say.

"Poppet'll 'ave 'im in 'er pocket now, aye?" Whispered another, followed by a murmured agreement, the voices of, quite possibly, Pintel and Ragetti.

"The Dutchman is once again our ally. No longer must we fear that impossible choice: an eternity in Jones' hellish locker, or sailing the doldrums beyond this world, forever, or else, serving a hundred brutal years aboard that cursed ship. I have seen the reality of that fate myself, and believe me, it is a fate we can rejoice to be spared from. Many of you will have seen The Dutchman rise from the depths and fight at the side of The Black Pearl, the very ship upon which I fought battle as your equal, and married amongst the blood and sweat of you brave men - and women. Many of you will have seen the two ships battle The Endeavour, and you will have seen for yourselves how foolish it was of Beckett to dare approach us. A fool he was. Yes, The Dutchman is our ally, but let this too be known: my husband is loyal to me, as I him, and despite the distance which the curse of The Dutchman may force us to bear, he hears me." She allowed the hint of a threat to hang in the air, and no one spoke, or moved, or seemed to even breathe. Smiling, she shook her mane, the moment passed, her voice lighter. "And so, men," She stooped, grabbing a goblet of rum from the table, raising it before her. "Ladies. Let us drink to my marriage, to our victory, and to our freedom! May no wretched soul ever dare try and take it from us again!" As she raised the goblet to her lips, the room erupted into an extraordinary uproar of cheers, stomping and laughter, as everyone toasted alongside her, many toasting her health and that of her husband.

Leaping lightly to the ground, she returned Teague's pistol to him.

"You'll 'ave t' get one of yer own, you know." He smirked.

She pulled a pleat of her skirts aside to reveal the butt of her own gun. "Forgive me. I was aiming for dramatics."

"Aye, well, you managed that." He laughed, handing her a bottle of rum, clinking it with his own in a toast. "A fine speech."

She nodded her head in thanks.

It was an evening greater than any society ball she had attended. Crates of rum and wine and exotic liquors from every corner of the globe lined the walls, several men positioning themselves directly beneath the tap, mouths open and arms resting serenely behind their heads as they almost literally drowned in their merriment. The hog was devoured within the hour, and yet there seemed a never-ending stream of sweetmeats, sugared delights and roasted vegetables to slake even the hungriest of appetites. Fiddlers (and often Teague, with his guitar) played energetically into the night, many taking to the floor to dance a jig, Elizabeth too taking several eager turns upon the dance-floor. Boxes of cigars were passed around, thick fumes of smoke weighing heavy in the air. The finest opium and hashish appeared from some dark corner, though Elizabeth knew not from where, or whom, and she didn't indulge. It was important to keep a clear head.

Well feasted and perhaps the slightest bit giddy on wine, she made her way to one of many cards tables, for it was here where she intended to spend much of her evening. Many men were already playing poker, but, spying a free seat, she made her way towards them, her gait leisurely as she surveyed the scene. Three men were currently playing, all having drunk considerably more than herself. Their dealer was a youngish man perhaps only a few years older than herself, handsome but for a jagged red scar which ran the length of his face. A blade had clearly missed his eye by mere millimetres.

Careful to add a wobble to her step which would suggest that she had indulged in more than a few glasses, she placed her hands upon the back of the vacant seat.

"May I join, gentlemen?"

They each turned to look at her. The boy nearest to her could be no older than twenty, thin tufts of a red beard upon his chin. He doffed his hat clumsily at her, wide green eyes taking in every inch of her wild appearance. The second man was from West Africa, black eyes with yellow scleras, and even seated, he was almost as tall as Elizabeth was when standing. The third man was perhaps fifty, with salt and pepper hair and brown eyes which struggled to focus on her. He was definitely the most drunk of the three.

The African man chortled, his voice deep and guttural. "If you think you stand a chance, Captain Swann."

Smirking, she took her seat, taking her coin purse from her waistband. She threw three coins into the pile to match the wager. "I'll take my chances, Sir."

Teague leant against a beam near the carcass of the hog, long since picked clean, his arms crossed, a smile toying on his lips. He had been watching Elizabeth play for over an hour and had to admire her cunning. She was clever enough to win, but not so arrogant as to win every time. She knew better than to raise suspicion, especially amongst such a suspicious crowd. And, indeed, a crowd had gathered around the table, watching as she so deftly, elegantly bled each pirate dry without his even raising an eyebrow, keeping them distracted with her quick wit and easy charm. She was the best pirate he'd ever seen, that much was for sure.

That explains that look in his eye. He thought to himself, his mind turning to his son.

A cabin boy appeared at Elizabeth's side, offering her a box of cigarettes, rolled in fine, dark brown liquorice paper. She took one, and several men, the cabin boy included, struck a match to light it for her. Smiling, she turned her head to the cabin boy, thanking him as she took a long drag, blowing a neat, round smoke circle into the air. Another skill acquired during her voyage to World's End. Though this one she preferred to partake in sparingly, not being as fond of the taste of tobacco as the men she knew.

Raising a brow to the table, she made a mental tally of her winnings. She had acquired more than enough to fund repairs to her ship and restock the hold. It was time to pull away before someone objected to her luck.

Two dozen men had gathered to watch the performance, cheering at her every win, booing whenever she (unknowingly to them), allowed a loss.

"Another game, gentlemen?" She smiled.

The original trio had long since disappeared to some dark opium corner or nearby brothel, and the three seated before her now were all still no doubt in their teens, foolishly gambling away their feeble savings in order to try and impress her. They each flitted their gaze nervously to each other, daring someone to decline.

"Aye." A boy named Rutland, the most confident of the trio, declared, quickly followed by the others. They each threw their coins into the centre of the table, raising the ante, each time to a nervous gulp of an Adam's apple.

Elizabeth pursed her lips, studying the two cards in her hand: Queen of hearts, and Jack of hearts; an excellent start. Delicately, she licked her lower lip, allowing a fraction of a pink tongue to appear. It was her tell. A bluffed tell.

Willoughby, the youngest looking player, scratched his ear as he studied his own cards; his own tell, though she wagered that his was genuine and unnoticed by himself. By the way that his eyes darted around the room, he was clearly nervous.

Both Rutland and, the third, an Italian boy named Capuci, looked equally unsettled.

Nevertheless, all three men added their coin to match the ante.

"I raise you a penny." She smiled, adding yet more coins.

Just a penny, boys. I'm sure you can manage another penny.

The boys reluctantly followed suit.

Licking her lips once more, she raised the ante a penny.

They matched.

A second penny and Willoughby was forced to fold, his having no more coins to bet.

Rutland smirked, staring Elizabeth down.

Capuci took a long swig of wine, the goblet hiding his expression.

Elizabeth licked her lips again, going as far as to chew on the inside of her cheek.

A bet made, the dealer, whose name was Adamson, drew three cards for all four of them; the flop. Elizabeth examined her cards, careful to keep her expression neutral. A King of hearts, a ten of hearts, and a seven of spades.

Another round of betting, a shilling was added to the total, and Capuci too folded, collapsing against the back of his seat in defeat as he took a long swig from his goblet.

Adamson drew them each a fourth card; the turn.

Elizabeth's was a Queen of spades.

"Care to up the ante, Mr. Rutland?" She crooned.

He laughed, his accent thick, Scottish. "Aye." He threw in another penny, and she matched him easily. They each added another three pennies before closing the bet.

Adamson drew the final card; the river.

Her face neutral, Elizabeth studied her hand.

A disappointing seven of diamonds.

They bet once more, their pride driving another fourpence in total onto the table. Rutland's eyes twinkling with confidence in his hand.

Adamson, whose voice was perhaps a touch too high pitched to match his rugged appearance, requested that they play their hand. While Capuci and Willoughby had both folded, and therefore couldn't claim the winnings, they were still obliged to reveal their cards.

Willoughby went first.

King of spades, Queen of clubs, four of diamonds, four of clubs, three of clubs.

"Pair."

Capuci followed.

Queen of diamonds, ten of diamonds, five of diamonds, four of hearts, two of hearts.

He said nothing, merely taking another swig of wine.

Placing her five chosen cards down upon the table, Elizabeth looked up expectantly at Rutland as she revealed her hand.

King of hearts, Queen of hearts, Queen of spades, seven of spades, and seven of diamonds.

"Two pair." She announced, her voice hollow.

Rutland smirked, fanning his own cards upon the table.

Jack of clubs, Jack of spades, Jack of diamonds, eight of diamonds, eight of spades.

Jack.

"Full house." He smirked.

Elizabeth's face fell, though she quickly composed herself with a graceful smile.

The watching crowd burst into a frenzy; they themselves had been taking bets on who would win and were now arguing and exchanging winnings amongst themselves.

"My hand was poor this time." Elizabeth sighed.

"Speak for yourself." Capuci muttered into his wine.

"You played excellently, Captain Swann." Rutland replied, shaking hands with Willoughby, Capuci, Adamson and Elizabeth, before sweeping his winnings into his pocket.

"Luck was on my side tonight."

"Luck, be damned. And on what shall you be spending your winnings?"

Elizabeth stood, feeling the weight of her considerably fuller coin purse as it swung against her hip. "Oh, perhaps a wedding band." She smirked, feigning a yawn. She wriggled her bare ring finger in the air. "Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I must speak with Captain Teague. I've spent enough time playing at cards for one night."

Tossing a coin to the same cabin boy who had lit her cigarette, she cried. "Fetch another barrel of rum from the nearest tavern! And see that Rutland here has first draw of the tap!" Another cheer filled the air.

Teague was watching her, the way in which he leant against the wall, arms folded, watching her, reminding Elizabeth so of his son, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why; Jack rarely stood still long enough to recline in such a way.

"Best I've seen anyone play poker in a long time."

"That last hand wasn't my finest."

"Wisely so." He looked at her pointedly.

"Indeed." She smiled.

He handed her a bottle of rum.

"Ok... Just one more."

The birds were singing their morning call by the time anyone made it to a bed for the night, or whatever rum-soaked scrap of floor they deemed acceptable enough. With such a hefty weight of coin resting against her thigh, Elizabeth had paced herself, and but for perhaps the slight feeling of walking on clouds, or a steadily rocking ship, she felt perfectly sober, unlike anyone else at the feast that night.

Closing and locking the door of her room - Jack's room - behind her, she untied the coin purse, placing it at once beneath the same loose floorboard beneath which she had kept Will's heart hidden until just hours earlier.

Yes, the air was too silent. She could hear now. Hear what exactly wasn't there to be heard. What wasn't there to wrap her arms around, and press her ear against, and pretend to be her husband. All of her husband.

Will.

She tugged herself free from her dress, draping it carefully over the back of the chair in the corner of the room, shivering slightly as the cool air caused her skin to prickle with gooseflesh.

Of course, she had done the right thing. She had promised to protect Will's heart, and how could so do so surrounded by drunken, opportunistic pirates? She felt it had been wise to warn the men that she had The Dutchman as her greatest ally (without of course mentioning the slight hiccup of her lack of a means of communicating directly with her husband, did she so desire to do so). Nevertheless, she knew that doing so would also inform them (or those clever enough to realise), that she therefore likely had Will's heart in her possession. No, of course, she couldn't keep it by her side. To do so would be far too great a risk.

If only it wasn't quite so far away.

If only he wasn't so far away.

Drawing her hand into the folds of her discarded gown, she pulled free a creased playing card, lighting a candle on the desk so that she could see it better. Holding the card close to the flame, she rubbed her thumb against it.

Jack of hearts.

Jack.

Placing the card beneath her pillow as well as a dagger, and placing her sword and loaded pistol close to hand, Elizabeth blew out the candle, falling almost immediately into a thick slumber, her dreams overcome by thoughts of two faraway Captains, each battling over her own very fickle, very present heart.