Lol, my third Pirates of the Caribbean fanfic. You like this one, I suggest you read my others, I was kinda pressed for time on this one, and so far I'm not too happy with my style. But after buying the soundtrack today I went ahead and decided a nic fic was just the way to slide into my birthday, (Saturday the 26th, lol, all you guys gotta do is send me nice review for my present (.) So go ahead, read on, the second chapter will be posted after I update "The Legend of the Jolly Roger." Which, I am currently typing as you read this, no joke. Until then, happy hijacking fellow scalley-wags,, you lot of really bad eggs, Enjoy!

Ps: If anyone is curious about any of the Pirates mentioned in this fic, don't be afraid to drop me a question, they all had the most fascinating lives, and I felt much obliged to briefly mention them.

The autumn morning blew a refreshing breeze throughout Port Royal, waltzing with the palm trees outside the workshop of Will Turner. While it seemed the weather never truly cooled in the Caribbean, there was a crisp intake of air as the citizens of the English port milled about their business at the nine o' clock hour.

Stillness had graced the town and its residents like a warm quilt. The pubs were unusually still, the prison cells were free of jeering pirates, as the gallows had not been touched in two years time. If Will Turner had not known better, he would have guessed the British fleet would have sailed back to her majesty. Either that or they had been on an overly long tea break.

He hammered away with his full lips pressed into a thin line of thought. A peaceful life was exactly what he wanted; a calm, humble, peaceful life. Sparks scurried through the air away from his hammer as he rhythmically hit the iron on which he fashioned his creations. No ranting pirates, no misadventures at sea, just a very comfortable life.

* * * * * *

No, the quiet was not fine. Elizabeth Turner slammed the volume she had reading shut causing a maid in the room to jump. It seemed for some reason, after being held hostage by undead pirates, marooned on an island, and out and out swashbuckling with scalley-wags and bloomin' coach roaches, she could simply not readjust back into the refined life she had been brought up in.

She found herself frequently flipping through stories she had collected at her younger age, the tales of pirates and their adventures. Such novels had obviously greatly disturbed her father, and as protocol came more into her life as she grew into age, she found them slowly but surely disappearing from her bookshelves.

As depressing as that had been, it was out of place for her to begin with to actually own the books, much less to request her father to stop ridding them of her. But still…..

She rose form her chaise lounge, staring at the sparsely filled shelf now. How she longed to recall the tales of romance between Anne Bonny and her sea-faring lover, Calico Jack. The marauding adventures of Black Bart and Simon Simonson ( who's nickname she fancied secretly, Captian Devil) all ran in bits and pieces through her mind, flicking images of true and dangerous adventures to be kept in the silence of her childhood.

Yet now, she had to remember, she had Will now. Will who had risked his very life for her safety on many occasions on their own seafaring adventure. While she loved him dearly, his over protectiveness was what had her going looney. It was as if she had been looking at the window from the outside in, and was dragged into that window, to be shut-up, and never released again, like a caged bird. But how she could never admit this to Will, no, could never dare that.

She seated herself down again, almost outraged at herself for allowing these thoughts to escape from her heart and parade around her head. Elizabeth, she whispered quietly, you really do forget your place sometimes.

The trees dappled with shades of vibrant red leaves changed their colors to a hushing maroon at dusk, as hues of lavender through black danced as a change in the winds passed about Port Royal.