"In the name of God, William Turner, I can't take my eyes off you for ten minutes before you do something rash and life-threatening!"

William Turner simply laughed. "I am sorry for worrying you, Ophelia—but I am here now, and that is what matters, is it not?" His brown eyes regarded his friend's face, a light and apologetic smile on his lips. "How have you been throughout the past seasons?"

Ophelia raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic. As worried as she had been about her greatest friend the past five months, she was even more relieved to find him in front of her now. He had disappeared one night when a bunch of cursed pirates from the Black Pearl opened fire on Port Royal; said pirates had taken Elizabeth Swann, the governor's daughter, captive, and of course Will simply had to go after her… and nearly get himself killed in the process.

"I've been bored," she responded as a sigh. She seized a thick woolen blanket and draped it around Will's shoulders; seeing as Will had returned late at night in the middle of a rainstorm and had given Elizabeth his jacket to keep her dry, Ophelia felt it was her responsibility to make sure Will would not catch a cold.

"Bored?

"Yes, bored," she confirmed, moving to strike up a fire in the fireplace. With only two strokes of flint against stone, sparks began to fan into a small flame within the hearth. "You're mad if you think Mr. Brown would've practiced swordplay with me. I've had to train all by myself!"

At this, a smirk formed on Will's face. "If that's the case, we have a lot of work to do."

Choosing to ignore Ophelia's protests, he stood up and grabbed two of the swords that she had forged in his absence. He handed one hilt first to her; the other he gripped himself. "Are you ready? One—two—"

"Will, you need to rest," she said, but it didn't look like Will would be hearing any of it.

"Three!"

Right when Will said that, he lunged toward her. Ophelia yelped and parried; it was effective at least, despite how sloppy her stance was. She was able to regain her balance quickly—and then she struck back at him. They danced around each other in the faint light of the hearth, eyes glinting in playful challenge the entire while. Even though her mentor and friend had been gone the past five months, Ophelia was pleased to see that she was holding her own against him rather well.

"Ha!" she exclaimed, leaping back to avoid the tip of Will's sword. "Is this all you can do? I would've thought that your journey improved your skill!"

Will glared at her as if she'd just issued a personal insult. "You will regret saying that, Ophie!"

She merely laughed and danced out of his reach.

For a while more, with Will assessing her performance the way he always did, they sparred. It went on for a time until at last he got the best of the engagement and disarmed her. Ophelia was pleased to notice that Will seemed winded, never mind her inevitable defeat.

"Very good!" he exclaimed. "Very good… you have been practicing!"

"Three hours a day," she grinned. "Just like you."

Will chuckled, his dark eyes gleaming with something that Ophelia hoped was pride. "That's good to hear."

"How much did you have to fight during your journey?"

"More than you'd like to hear."

Ophelia's lips quirked sideways. With a mischievous look in her eyes, she knelt beside the hearth to feed the fire new coals. "The exploits would be a most wonderful tale, I'm sure." She gently guided him toward the fireplace and sat him down upon a barrel in front of it. "Tell me about it."

Will laughed curtly, but was apparently convinced. "Very well. It was a long journey with Captain Jack Sparrow… we started by hijacking a ship from the British navy and commandeered a cursed pirate ship from there. Have you ever heard of those old curses—the ones about pirate gold?"

Ophelia blinked. "I don't believe I have. What was the curse?"

"Immortality. If anyone touched or spent the gold of the Aztecs, they would never die."

"That hardly sounds like a curse." Ophelia's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. "Wouldn't most people want to live forever?"

Will shrugged and muttered, his voice low, "That was their thinking. But after many long years, the men lost their sense of taste, smell, touch. They could not enjoy life as they once had: food and water turned to ash, physical touch became nothing… and in the moonlight, their very bodies would waste away to skeletons. They were simply undead—and as they were immortal, they could not be killed."

"And you fought them?" Ophelia's whisper was of a horrified fascination.

He offered her a hesitant smile. "Not alone. But yes."

There was a silence as Ophelia processed this information. She loved Will immensely; he was the most important person in her life. She had fallen in love with him years ago, and had been his friend for much longer. It had been nearly impossible to suffer through her day-to-day activities while he had been at sea, for she worried about him incessantly… but now he was back, safe—home.

"Well," she sighed, "the next time you go off to fight cursed pirates, be sure to take me with you. I would bet I could've made the journey easier for you." This last was said with a knowing smirk, one that Will did not miss.

He laughed and placed an arm around her shoulder. "Very well," he promised. "Everything was in disarray when I left. Now, though—if it comforts you, I promise that we shall remain together, through whatever chaos."

Ophelia smiled, indeed comforted. She well remembered the first time he had told her they'd remain together… the first time they met.

At eleven years of age, Ophelia was slowly but surely starving on the streets. She had been rummaging through a waste pile in the back alley by the bakery when a young voice asked, "What are you doing?"

Ophelia leapt back, startled. She didn't think anyone would want to chase her away with a cattle-prod if she were rooting through a waste pile. That was where people put things they did not need… wasn't it?

Her face burned pink; she sheepishly hid the apple core she'd found behind her back and glanced upon the person who'd caught her. It was a boy not much older than herself, with dark hair that was tied back. He wore a smock grimy with smoke and ash—some of it was spread across his forehead, too.

"Well?" asked the boy, his dark eyes curious. He crossed his arms as he inspected Ophelia's face and clothing, which were pitiful at best.

She sighed and silently held out the apple core.

The boy moved forward and stared at it. His eyes moved to her gaunt figure, her pale face. "Are you trying to get something to eat?"

Now she nodded, ashamed though she was to admit it.

But the boy didn't look disgusted. If anything, he looked sad; he smiled at her nonetheless—the first act of kindness Ophelia had received in a long, long time.

"I have some money. I've been saving it," said the boy, extending his hand to show her seven coins. Ophelia could see the glints of silver in his palm due to the afternoon sunlight. "Maybe we could both get something to eat. I'm hungry, too."

She blinked again and stared at him before asking, "Why?"

He shrugged. "We're both hungry. And you won't get anything good to eat like that."

Ophelia's face turned red from pink; she could feel the heat upon the back of her neck. Shuffling her feet, she confessed, "I… have nothing to give back to you."

The boy hummed for a second before gazing her up and down. Then, a bright smile on his face, he said, "Maybe you could help me in the forge. Mr. Brown needs another apprentice, anyway."

Ophelia's gaze shot back to his face. She had never thought that someone would ever offer her a piece of bread, much less an invitation of work or friendship. If she was actually able to earn some money… everything could change. But—perhaps the boy might change his mind later, too…

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Ophelia. You?"

"Will."

She nodded and tried to smile, but Ophelia feared it looked more like a grimace than an actual smile. Just then, her stomach rumbled—embarrassed, she glanced to the ground. But when she looked back up, Will was grinning.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get some lunch. It can be you and me: together."

She was still scared, of course, but… her mother used to sing lullabies about hope and happiness. It was all Ophelia could remember of her mother; maybe it was enough. "Together? As… friends?"

"Sure!" Will seemed no less than delighted by her speaking the word, as if her merely acknowledging it was enough to give him hope. "We can be friends. We can do everything together."

Ophelia finally allowed herself to smile. She'd never had a real friend before. "Everything?"

"Everything," he confirmed, nodding. He held out a hand—and Ophelia shook it. "Now let's get some lunch."

Ophelia was brought out of her thoughts by Will's voice. "What are you thinking about? You have that look."

She turned towards him, a smile upon her face that was just as warm as the embers in the fireplace. "I was thinking about the first day we met. It seems so long ago, and yet… like yesterday."

Will grinned at her and reached out to place a hand upon her shoulder. His grip was both gentle and supportive. "It was a fortunate day for us both."

"More for me than you," she laughed. "I was starving on the streets, and you gave me an opportunity to work here in the forge."

"Hardly. Your sewing would've given you a way to support yourself if I hadn't." Will grinned at her, gesturing to the far side of the wall. "I see you've been plenty busy while I've been gone."

This much was true: Ophelia had made plenty of dresses for the women in Port Royal during the months of Will's absence. She had made even more in her constant states of worry and distress, and now at least a dozen fine dresses were hanging from her corner of the store, waiting to be inspected and sold to the noblewomen of the city. Forging was something she did for work and for fun, but… without her only friend, the activity almost felt lifeless: hollow.

But sewing was different. It was almost therapeutic, and something she could do by herself. In creating those dresses, she had found a modicum of peace.

When Ophelia stole another glance at Will, she noted it was he who was drifting off into his own thoughts. But right when she was about to ask what he was thinking, he blurted out, "Ophelia, may I trust you to keep a secret for me?"

He sounded anxious. Ophelia withheld her frown—he didn't need to feel nervous in telling her anything. They were best friends, after all. "Yes, of course. You know you can always speak to me."

Will smiled again; that was another thing Ophelia had missed. He always seemed to reserve a specific smile just for her, and he wore it now when he said, "I know I can, do not worry. This may seem sudden, and hardly anyone knows, but I wished to tell you: Elizabeth and I are going to be married in the spring."

Ophelia blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly. "Married?"

"Yes. Her father has given us his blessing already, when we returned just a few hours ago. As you are my best friend, I value your opinion. What do you think?"

The look on Will's face was so bright… so hopeful. Ophelia swallowed back the burning in her throat and blinked rapidly, so he might not see the wetness there. She would never dream of doing anything to withhold his happiness, and there had been such joy in his face upon saying Elizabeth's name… she could never tell him her true feelings.

And so she replied, "Oh, Will, I think—I think that's wonderful."