All I Ever Wanted
Chapter One: A Letter from the Grave
By Aria Stardust and Samus Aran
Disclaimer// We don't own anything Pirate like, so don't sue us. We're poor Pennsylvanians who live in a city you couldn't find on a map if you tried. X.x We've suffered enough.
Rating// For now, PG-13.
Summary// Elizabeth is forced to marry the Commodore, leaving Will alone. When he receives a letter begging him to come to Tulou, he doesn't think twice about leaving Port Royal. What he doesn't expect is to become First Mate of the Black Pearl or giving his heart to the most unlikely of pirates. (Jack/Will)
Dedicated to the fallen chapter of BIAS... We loved you chapter four... until you're untimely fate at the... circuits of Samus' computer. And to those who know what BIAS is (Because I am Shinobi) We are SOOO sorry for not updating. We're gonna update much more often now! We promise!
~~*~~
It began like any normal day would, and this most certainly appeared to be a normal day to Will Turner, blacksmith by trade and rogue at heart. Of course, this day was nothing special. In fact, it had dawned a bit dreary and Will's mood wasn't the best. He was bordering on depression, though he wouldn't have admitted why, and found that his troubles were having a hard time chasing him through a bottle of cheap wine.
Well, any simple sot could tell you that trying to do any sort of smithing and drinking a large bottle of wine are not tasks that should be taken upon together. Especially not when you're doing the drinking first. Will Turner, though, wouldn't have listened to reason no matter how loud it was shouted at him, and especially not when he was already well on his way to being drunk.
At the moment, he was attempting to beat a bit of heated steel. Not that he was actually hitting the steel that is. Or the anvil for that matter. In fact, he was striking at thin air. Not a pretty sight, but definitely a comical one to anyone who might not have a concern to his welfare. For he was swinging that hammer at a high speed and with all his strength. He might not even have realized this.
Well, he probably noticed it when he cracked himself in the knee.
"Damned!" he growled, dropping the hammer and falling to the floor, clutching his injured leg. In his fall he managed to knock the hot steel off of the anvil and it landed across his right arm, burning straight through to skin instantly. He screamed, this time louder and a slight bit more high pitched. He rolled away from the steel, yelping, and only managing to beat his head against a large piece of wood. He stopped dead at that moment, all three injuries trying to take precedence in his mind, and himself finding that tears of frustration and pain were threatening at the corners of his eyes.
"That was not very becoming of you, Turner." someone began, interrupting the smith's thoughts and causing him to look up at the new entrant. Will couldn't bring himself to glare, only rolling over and pushing himself to his feet. He growled in his throat as he shoved past his visitor.
"Mr. Brown, what are you doing here?" he snapped, rubbing at his temples and searching his benches for the bottle of rum he'd sworn he hadn't finished. Noticing it on the floor, uncorked and lying on it's side, he realized that he had.
"Will, you're looking terrible. You-" Brown began, only concern in his voice. Will cut him off.
"It's none of your business what I do in my own time and on my own property." he interrupted in a tone far more defensive and angry than it should have been. "Was there a real reason you're here?" Will raged. He turned to glance at his former master, but turned away scowling. "Or are you here to chide me some more? If my memory serves me, you're quite a drunkard yourself, old man. Who are you to tell me how to live?" Will grunted. Brown's face darkened and he turned stony. Will, however, was too drunk to care that he'd just cut at the older man's honor and was feeling proud at his remark.
"Well then, Mr. Turner, I'll just deliver this and be gone." The master smith thrust a piece of paper towards Will and turned on his heel and left the forge without a backwards glance. Will stared after him, then turned his scowl to the paper in his hand. In a small, messy scrawl was his name 'William Turner'. He turned the thing over and surveyed it from every angle before he grimaced and tossed the thing aside and turned to look for the spare jug of rum he'd bought earlier that day. Finding it, he settled down to drink himself unconscious in the darkest corner of the forge.
~~*~~
"Oh Will, not again." A deep, but distinctly feminine sigh filled his ears as consciousness forced it's way back into Will Turner's mind. He grunted a bit, but sleep was gone to him and he finally made himself open his eyes.
Light hurt, causing explosives behind his eyes, but he sat up anyway and fought nausea at the movement. Sitting across from him was Elizabeth Norrington, wife to the Commodore Norrington. Will swallowed hard. "Hello, Elizabeth." he managed, leaning back and resting his head against the cool stone of the wall.
"Why do you do this to yourself, Will?" she asked, her voice pained as she stared at him intently. He hated to be under that piercing, disapproving gaze. It hurt him far deeper than he should have let it. He didn't answer her. He couldn't. His voice wouldn't allow talking, not that he could find a reasonable enough answer to actually voice.
She saw that he had no intentions of answering and dropped her eyes to her hands, delicately clasped in her lap. He followed her gaze and studied her delicate white hands, so unlike what she'd been only months ago. They could never have handled a rifle, or the rigging of a ship, could they? It was hard to remember those days, and yet impossible to forget them.
"Will.... I-" she cut herself off as she stood, suddenly angry. "I'm sorry! Is that what you want to hear?!" she snapped, voice raised to a yell as she paced the dirt floor of his small forge. Will flinched with each angry word. She turned to him, eyes flaming and stance tensed. "I'm sorry, Will. I gave my vows to the Commodore, and I could say nothing when he demanded I keep those vows."
Will stared at his own hands. Rough, uncaring, the hands of a blacksmith. The hands of someone who deserved whatever fate he had earned. His heart ached for Elizabeth, but he could say nothing now. She was married to another, and she was bound to that tie. She was unreachable to him. He forced himself to look up at her. He found no words in his mouth, though he longed to say any number.
She finally exploded, though her face became icy and hard. "Well then, Mr. Turner. Good day." she hissed, turning and storming out of the forge, much like Brown had done... had that only been the night before? It felt like an eternity ago.
It was a long few moments later before Will managed to get himself to his feet and walking. He wanted to run after Elizabeth, but he knew she'd never listen to him anyway. She'd found him drunk to unconsciousness once to many times, he wagered. Maybe after she'd had time to cool down, he could send her a flower and beg her pardon. He sighed. That might not even work this time. He hadn't seen her that angry at him in ages... or ever.
He found a small basin and filled it with fresh water, taking care to wash his face and hands meticulously. He hated himself when he drank, and he wanted to wipe that part of him away completely.
Another painful reminder of his stupor, he found the burn from the steel. It had matured into a long, think white burn mark the width of two fingers cut at an angle across his arm. He gently wiped the area with the cloth, using the cool water to ease the sting a bit.
He stared at the small mirror above the basin and grimaced. He was unshaven and his hair was tangled. When had been the last time he'd taken time to groom? It had been awhile... all the days were starting to bleed together in his mind. He felt a new wave of self-loathing as he reach for his razor and gave himself a shave.
Once he'd finished he found that he was starting to feel better. He'd already vowed to stop drinking himself stupid, and now he actually intended to keep that promise to himself.
Turning around from the mirror he glanced around the forge. The place was in shambles. He took to tidying it up, taking his mind off his current situation. In the process of his cleaning, he found the letter he'd tosses aside the night before. He studied it a moment and pondered it. He couldn't quite remember Brown giving it to him, but he knew that was who had delivered it.
He felt a great swell of guilt. He'd been horrible to the man the night before, and he had just remembered the exchange. He sighed a bit and opened the letter.
Reading it, he stopped shot.
Dear Will,
I know it's not right of me to write to you like this, but I need you're help. You're the only one I feel I can write to help me now. Please, come to Tulou. I am in desperate need of your aid.
I only hope this finds you well, and able.
Signed,
Your father, Bill Turner.
Will was speechless. No, speechless would have been a step up. He was absolutely flabbergasted. He reread the letter twice before he could bring himself to believe that it was even possible that this was from his father, but yes... it 'could' be.
After all, the facts added up. Bootstrap Bill, though all assumed he met an untimely death under the water, had after all been cursed at the time and unable to die, hadn't he? It was a thought that Will had turned over in his mind many a time since he'd learned of his father's fate.
Was this letter from his father legit? Will stood stock still a moment and let himself just hope that it was. His father. He wanted so badly to see him. A pirate and a good man... wasn't that how Jack had described him? Will suddenly felt himself growing excited as he paced around the forge.
He had enough money left to buy passage to Tulou with no problems. He smiled and found he had decided.
"Alright then. Look out Tulou, I'm on my way." he spoke aloud.
Chapter One: A Letter from the Grave
By Aria Stardust and Samus Aran
Disclaimer// We don't own anything Pirate like, so don't sue us. We're poor Pennsylvanians who live in a city you couldn't find on a map if you tried. X.x We've suffered enough.
Rating// For now, PG-13.
Summary// Elizabeth is forced to marry the Commodore, leaving Will alone. When he receives a letter begging him to come to Tulou, he doesn't think twice about leaving Port Royal. What he doesn't expect is to become First Mate of the Black Pearl or giving his heart to the most unlikely of pirates. (Jack/Will)
Dedicated to the fallen chapter of BIAS... We loved you chapter four... until you're untimely fate at the... circuits of Samus' computer. And to those who know what BIAS is (Because I am Shinobi) We are SOOO sorry for not updating. We're gonna update much more often now! We promise!
~~*~~
It began like any normal day would, and this most certainly appeared to be a normal day to Will Turner, blacksmith by trade and rogue at heart. Of course, this day was nothing special. In fact, it had dawned a bit dreary and Will's mood wasn't the best. He was bordering on depression, though he wouldn't have admitted why, and found that his troubles were having a hard time chasing him through a bottle of cheap wine.
Well, any simple sot could tell you that trying to do any sort of smithing and drinking a large bottle of wine are not tasks that should be taken upon together. Especially not when you're doing the drinking first. Will Turner, though, wouldn't have listened to reason no matter how loud it was shouted at him, and especially not when he was already well on his way to being drunk.
At the moment, he was attempting to beat a bit of heated steel. Not that he was actually hitting the steel that is. Or the anvil for that matter. In fact, he was striking at thin air. Not a pretty sight, but definitely a comical one to anyone who might not have a concern to his welfare. For he was swinging that hammer at a high speed and with all his strength. He might not even have realized this.
Well, he probably noticed it when he cracked himself in the knee.
"Damned!" he growled, dropping the hammer and falling to the floor, clutching his injured leg. In his fall he managed to knock the hot steel off of the anvil and it landed across his right arm, burning straight through to skin instantly. He screamed, this time louder and a slight bit more high pitched. He rolled away from the steel, yelping, and only managing to beat his head against a large piece of wood. He stopped dead at that moment, all three injuries trying to take precedence in his mind, and himself finding that tears of frustration and pain were threatening at the corners of his eyes.
"That was not very becoming of you, Turner." someone began, interrupting the smith's thoughts and causing him to look up at the new entrant. Will couldn't bring himself to glare, only rolling over and pushing himself to his feet. He growled in his throat as he shoved past his visitor.
"Mr. Brown, what are you doing here?" he snapped, rubbing at his temples and searching his benches for the bottle of rum he'd sworn he hadn't finished. Noticing it on the floor, uncorked and lying on it's side, he realized that he had.
"Will, you're looking terrible. You-" Brown began, only concern in his voice. Will cut him off.
"It's none of your business what I do in my own time and on my own property." he interrupted in a tone far more defensive and angry than it should have been. "Was there a real reason you're here?" Will raged. He turned to glance at his former master, but turned away scowling. "Or are you here to chide me some more? If my memory serves me, you're quite a drunkard yourself, old man. Who are you to tell me how to live?" Will grunted. Brown's face darkened and he turned stony. Will, however, was too drunk to care that he'd just cut at the older man's honor and was feeling proud at his remark.
"Well then, Mr. Turner, I'll just deliver this and be gone." The master smith thrust a piece of paper towards Will and turned on his heel and left the forge without a backwards glance. Will stared after him, then turned his scowl to the paper in his hand. In a small, messy scrawl was his name 'William Turner'. He turned the thing over and surveyed it from every angle before he grimaced and tossed the thing aside and turned to look for the spare jug of rum he'd bought earlier that day. Finding it, he settled down to drink himself unconscious in the darkest corner of the forge.
~~*~~
"Oh Will, not again." A deep, but distinctly feminine sigh filled his ears as consciousness forced it's way back into Will Turner's mind. He grunted a bit, but sleep was gone to him and he finally made himself open his eyes.
Light hurt, causing explosives behind his eyes, but he sat up anyway and fought nausea at the movement. Sitting across from him was Elizabeth Norrington, wife to the Commodore Norrington. Will swallowed hard. "Hello, Elizabeth." he managed, leaning back and resting his head against the cool stone of the wall.
"Why do you do this to yourself, Will?" she asked, her voice pained as she stared at him intently. He hated to be under that piercing, disapproving gaze. It hurt him far deeper than he should have let it. He didn't answer her. He couldn't. His voice wouldn't allow talking, not that he could find a reasonable enough answer to actually voice.
She saw that he had no intentions of answering and dropped her eyes to her hands, delicately clasped in her lap. He followed her gaze and studied her delicate white hands, so unlike what she'd been only months ago. They could never have handled a rifle, or the rigging of a ship, could they? It was hard to remember those days, and yet impossible to forget them.
"Will.... I-" she cut herself off as she stood, suddenly angry. "I'm sorry! Is that what you want to hear?!" she snapped, voice raised to a yell as she paced the dirt floor of his small forge. Will flinched with each angry word. She turned to him, eyes flaming and stance tensed. "I'm sorry, Will. I gave my vows to the Commodore, and I could say nothing when he demanded I keep those vows."
Will stared at his own hands. Rough, uncaring, the hands of a blacksmith. The hands of someone who deserved whatever fate he had earned. His heart ached for Elizabeth, but he could say nothing now. She was married to another, and she was bound to that tie. She was unreachable to him. He forced himself to look up at her. He found no words in his mouth, though he longed to say any number.
She finally exploded, though her face became icy and hard. "Well then, Mr. Turner. Good day." she hissed, turning and storming out of the forge, much like Brown had done... had that only been the night before? It felt like an eternity ago.
It was a long few moments later before Will managed to get himself to his feet and walking. He wanted to run after Elizabeth, but he knew she'd never listen to him anyway. She'd found him drunk to unconsciousness once to many times, he wagered. Maybe after she'd had time to cool down, he could send her a flower and beg her pardon. He sighed. That might not even work this time. He hadn't seen her that angry at him in ages... or ever.
He found a small basin and filled it with fresh water, taking care to wash his face and hands meticulously. He hated himself when he drank, and he wanted to wipe that part of him away completely.
Another painful reminder of his stupor, he found the burn from the steel. It had matured into a long, think white burn mark the width of two fingers cut at an angle across his arm. He gently wiped the area with the cloth, using the cool water to ease the sting a bit.
He stared at the small mirror above the basin and grimaced. He was unshaven and his hair was tangled. When had been the last time he'd taken time to groom? It had been awhile... all the days were starting to bleed together in his mind. He felt a new wave of self-loathing as he reach for his razor and gave himself a shave.
Once he'd finished he found that he was starting to feel better. He'd already vowed to stop drinking himself stupid, and now he actually intended to keep that promise to himself.
Turning around from the mirror he glanced around the forge. The place was in shambles. He took to tidying it up, taking his mind off his current situation. In the process of his cleaning, he found the letter he'd tosses aside the night before. He studied it a moment and pondered it. He couldn't quite remember Brown giving it to him, but he knew that was who had delivered it.
He felt a great swell of guilt. He'd been horrible to the man the night before, and he had just remembered the exchange. He sighed a bit and opened the letter.
Reading it, he stopped shot.
Dear Will,
I know it's not right of me to write to you like this, but I need you're help. You're the only one I feel I can write to help me now. Please, come to Tulou. I am in desperate need of your aid.
I only hope this finds you well, and able.
Signed,
Your father, Bill Turner.
Will was speechless. No, speechless would have been a step up. He was absolutely flabbergasted. He reread the letter twice before he could bring himself to believe that it was even possible that this was from his father, but yes... it 'could' be.
After all, the facts added up. Bootstrap Bill, though all assumed he met an untimely death under the water, had after all been cursed at the time and unable to die, hadn't he? It was a thought that Will had turned over in his mind many a time since he'd learned of his father's fate.
Was this letter from his father legit? Will stood stock still a moment and let himself just hope that it was. His father. He wanted so badly to see him. A pirate and a good man... wasn't that how Jack had described him? Will suddenly felt himself growing excited as he paced around the forge.
He had enough money left to buy passage to Tulou with no problems. He smiled and found he had decided.
"Alright then. Look out Tulou, I'm on my way." he spoke aloud.