A/N: It's been an incredible, humbling experience, finally bringing this story to its end. I can't wait to post weekly; I need this out there for you all after so long. No more waiting. My eternal thanks to those who stuck with it these fourteen years; I hope you are not disappointed.

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Cutler Beckett, I hereby sentence you to exile."

Elizabeth didn't hear much more than that.

Exile was not recompense for Will's death.

From the back of the courthouse, she glowered at Beckett as he was led from the room. He seemed more shocked than anything that the judge was decreeing Jack responsible for carrying out his sentence. While that did lift the corner of her mouth slightly, it did not ease her indignation. That Jack had let Beckett live to see the exterior of that decimated office disappointed and angered her deeply, and she let him read it all over her face when he passed.

"The Governor will only be another moment, miss," the man helping her into the carriage said.

"Thank –"

She realized halfway into the carriage that it was Ragetti in a Marine's uniform, and when she went to step back down to see him, her mind stuttered again at the sight of Jack waiting in the carriage.

"You're angry."

Elizabeth closed her mouth into a hard line, nodding. "Yes."

Glaring at his smirk, she pulled her skirts through the door and slowly sat on the edge of the bench. Ragetti closed the carriage door.

"Why didn't you kill him, Jack?" Her eyes stung already. "Why?"

She snatched her hand away when Jack took it, but he took it again anyway.

"His ladylove wouldn't let me." He bent his brow. "Well, former ladylove. But no one is going to save him from a sound exiling."

Elizabeth looked caught between horror and intrigue at the thought of Beckett having an actual love life, then she realized he was speaking of Margaret and her eyes grew larger. Jack shook his head immediately, forbidding the subject.

He gave a halfhearted smile. "Who says men are the protectors, eh? Beckett and I would be duking it out in Davy Jones' Locker right now if not for you and Margaret."

Elizabeth glanced at the floor, feeling the phantom point of Beckett's Yoruba blade beneath her jaw.

"You did protect me," she said. "You saved me."

Jack shook his head again; more distracted this time.

"I didn't save you, love. Norrington had you saved several times long before I got there."

Elizabeth considered this, and for some reason, it made her spirits sink. Beckett nearly had her head lined up with the barrel of a flintlock when James interceded. And then he summoned what strength he had to hit Beckett with a few rocks before her throat was slit.

"You should marry the Commodore."

Elizabeth froze. Slowly, she looked up, and her heart raced to see the dullness of his eyes reflect the despondency of his voice. He was serious.

He was yielding.

"I don't love h—"

"Maybe you should try."

She drew back as if she had been slapped. His eyes were dark, persistent.

"What did you think was going to happen once this was over?"

Elizabeth demanded deep breaths of herself. She'd expected Jack to leave for his safety, for her engagement to Norrington to dissolve. In the same breath, she had anticipated Jack always being with her somehow yet James remaining her confidant, and she suddenly felt as foolish as Jack was implying.

He had offered her the chance to run away with him last night, and she was beginning to wish she had.

This was a goddamned mess.

And from the corners of her blurring vision came his hands; they slid along her jaw and pulled her to him, cradling her face as he kissed her. This was not the lustful, charged kiss of the captain's cabin several nights' prior; Jack was slow, intoxicating her as the finality of the situation closed in. She wanted to run from it; to deepen and intensify what he carefully channeled into her.

But the moment she pressed into his body, he broke the kiss.

She grazed her nose to his, but he was gone too quickly.

"Jack."

In a matter of seconds, Jack leapt up, opened the door next to him, jumped out of the carriage, and slammed the door shut. Abashed, Elizabeth gaped tearfully at the closed door. She hadn't the chance to draw a breath when the other carriage door behind her opened. She whipped around, face-to-face with her father. He pouted at the state of her, making his way inside.

"My dear," he sighed, "I cannot imagine how difficult that was for you."

She could only blink, turning away from the carriage door Jack had escaped through. Governor Swann extended her a kerchief as the carriage began to move, and she shut her eyes.

They were supposed to visit Norrington after the trial, but Governor Swann thought it best that Elizabeth spend the rest of the day recuperating at home. She had, after all, not slept the entire night, and then she attended the trial. By the time she made it to her bedroom, the emotional and physical exhaustion pulled her into her pillows for blessedly long, dreamless sleep.

Now a day removed from the verdict, Elizabeth held her breath through the foyer, peering around her father's shoulder as he opened the bedroom door. Her heart wilted at the sight of him: a once-proud Commodore lying helplessly in bed.

His bad knee was heavily bandaged and pitched over a mound of pillows. He rested in loose garments with his brown hair in a mussed-about ponytail, stubble peppering his jaw. The face of the man himself was alert, a lopsided grin emerging when he saw her. Elizabeth retuned it warmly as she entered, glanced at her father's approving smile, and went to his bedside in the very armchair in which he once held his vigil over her.

Her chest heaved, Beckett's words ringing in her ears.

Now see what you've done, Miss Swann.

James smiled over at her, and she laughed through a sob.

"I'm so glad you're awake."

"It is good to see you awake, Commodore," Governor Swann said.

Norrington grimaced at the pain shooting up his leg, repositioning his hips. "I'm not sure I can say the same."

"You were so brave," Elizabeth said softly, smoothing some of the creases along his white sleeve. She found no harm in inflating his ego a bit to add some extra cushioning around his knee and abdomen.

"Very brave," the Governor agreed. "Actions that have not been overlooked, I assure you."

Elizabeth rested her hand on his wrist, tears subdued. "How long until you recover?"

"Dr. Hawthorne isn't certain yet, but he said I will need a cane for a time when I do get out of this bed," Norrington said. He paused, unable to meet their eyes. "Depending on the severity of my limitations, I may have to resign as Commodore. I am all but... disabled indefinitely."

"I have some news concerning that." Governor Swann straightened when he had their attention, cleared his throat, and brandished a small smile. "The time has come for me to resign as governor."

Before either could interrupt, Swann pressed on.

"In light of recent events, it's for the best. Truthfully, I no longer wish to expose myself to pirates if it can at all be helped. In speaking with the King on this matter, he offered me the position sought by Lord Beckett. Upon my immediate return to England, I will be Lord High Constable."

Elizabeth was speechless, smiling between him and James. "Father, that is wonderful news."

"There is more," he continued. "If the two of you should choose to return with me, you may be wed as Lord and Lady Norrington."

James blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"There is a lordship waiting for you," Governor Swann said. "You'll also have ample time to recover on the voyage over, but if your condition remains a concern, there are other positions that will allow you to continue to serve His Majesty's Royal Navy."

"Thank you, sir," was all Norrington could seem to manage. "Of course, I would like to discuss this with Elizabeth."

Swann smiled. "The ship does not leave for a week."

Eyes still closed, Beckett frowned, welcomed back to the hell of the prison floor by the searing throb of his brand. With every breath he drew, the pain of the raw, puckering skin over his heart split into infinite shards across his chest. Never mind his hand.

Then, without warning, a cool, viscous liquid pooled over his breast. The warmth of his skin thinned it, and he felt a rogue rivulet scraped from his side with the soft swipe of a knife's spine.

He cracked an eye, and his voice cracked from disuse.

"Are you pouring honey on me?"

"And camphor," Margaret said, half-illuminated by the fading light of dusk. "It will help with the inflammation."

Beckett stared at her.

"Jack was a little overzealous in applying your brand," she said, swiping away another stray stream of molten honey. "It would be tragic if infection took you before you set sail.

"As I cannot do proper bloodletting in here," – she set down the knife, reaching for another jar – "you get honey and camphor."

Beckett stared at her.

"You and your camphor."

Near midnight, Elizabeth opened Norrington's bedroom door, slowly finding the curves of him beneath the blankets. Letting the door open fully, she crossed to his bedside, silently watching his shadowed features for any movement. At length, she sat in the armchair that had not yet found its proper place in the sitting room, watching him as he had her several nights ago. It took a moment, but she felt his eyes on her and looked over to see them shining in the dark.

James studied her without a sound. A stray beam of moonlight caught her silhouette.

"I would ask just how often you leave your rooms in the middle of the night, but then, I should be permitted to speculate."

Elizabeth pressed her lips into a pensive smile, running her palms down her aching thighs. She shifted, eyes searching the floor in the darkness. He stood to lose everything because of her, and she could not abide it.

"Have you thought on my father's offer?"

"Of nothing else," he said quietly. "It is a temptation to recover on the crossing, potentially maintain my career." He looked at her, swallowing. "To have a respectable home and a dear friend in my wife."

He saw her nod, though he was not surprised to hear a sniffle.

"I can't stay here," she said. "I can't walk past his grave every day, not if I am to create some semblance of a life with you. And, like my father, I have dealt with pirates long enough."

She turned, and he felt her eyes latch onto his very soul. She took his hand in both of hers, brought it to her lips, and kissed it. After losing so much, it was a relief to be able to move on, knowing he would be there.

"Thank you for being patient with me."

James stared at her, finally finding a small bead of light in her eyes. They danced over their entwining fingers, introducing a small tear betwixt them — forever reminding him that no matter how willing they were, this was not love. Even his own heart panged to admit so. He would marry Elizabeth and make her happy, and he would be happy to do so, but the image did not bring him the same joy it once did.

Beckett's imprisonment did not grant them the ease of ending this "engagement"; when she'd accepted him on the Dauntless in exchange for Will's life, no one outside the ship knew she had. Their first full day back in Port Royal was the day of Sparrow's hanging, and, subsequently, the end of that.

Now, everyone knew. The King himself knew. And to come forward and disappoint Governor Swann in such a disgraceful manner… neither of them had the heart. But there was heart enough to let the other reside there as they navigated a new life together. Perhaps they needed each other.

Norrington gently pulled her hands toward him. She came with them, rising from her seat to bestow a delicate kiss near his hairline. His heart galloped involuntarily at her tenderness, and he wet his lips as she leaned away.

"Elizabeth."

When he felt her pause, he held fast to her, a crease in his brow.

"This has all been a ruse. But if," — God, if his hope wasn't going to be the end of him — "if on the voyage over, if I were to ask you for myself…"

She squeezed his hand, and he thought he could see her nodding to herself as she murmured, "In our own time."

Each day of the following week, Elizabeth looked out the carriage window at the harbor, and each day, The Black Pearl was still there.

Each time, it made her want to stab something.

Thankfully, these carriage rides past the harbor were to visit James, and his company helped her to want to stab something less.

And less.

Winds were warm and languid for the first time in a month. The sky was cloudless, and the sun shone with a brilliance that made the rooftops gleam and shallows glitter.

It caught the beads of rain and spiderwebs of the tall grasses, shimmered in the few remaining puddles from the brief shower before dawn, and had begun to dry the darkened wood of Will's cross.

Jack had been here the night of the funeral, moments before Beckett proposed to Elizabeth, but there was more to say. He wasn't sure exactly what that was, but he hadn't said anything before, and a part of him couldn't leave Port Royal without properly paying his last respects.

"Ship's leaving soon, with the tide. Don't know when or if I'll be back, pirate's life and all, so..."

A cricket leapt onto the arm of the cross and down again. Jack scratched the corner of his nose.

"Elizabeth…"

Elizabeth could come back. He didn't want to say she wouldn't; who was he to speak for the force of nature that was Elizabeth Swann? He doubted she would once she settled in the English countryside, reading books in her little garden and being the ever-important lady of the house. Free to have children and live and drink wine without worrying about Lord Beckett ever again.

And maybe Will, in his omniscience, already knew these things he could not put into words. How they hurt to say and so benevolently saved him the trouble.

"She's safe, just like I promised."

He felt an echo from the past move through him: Will's neck bared over Cortez's gold at Isle de Muerta as he spoke these words. He raised his eyebrows with a wistful smile, recalling the ramble in its entirety.

It was like a punch to the chest.

"She's all set to marry Norrington, just like she promised.

"And you," — he blinked, working his jaw in the mild wind — "you get to die for her, just like you promised."

Jack took Will's key from the layers of his belt and hung it around the neck of the cross.

"I have my freedom, mate. Always have it with me."

He thrust his sword into the earth beside the marker.

"Godspeed, William Turner."