Disclaimer:
Go Bloom yourself, I'm not about to admit I don't own PotC. Or that I went majorly OOC for Jack's small role in the story.
Archive:
I prefer to know where, but I'm not going to object. Even if it is a MSTing victim.
Rating: PG
Summary:
An Elizabeth POV about "those blacksmith hands". Reviews appreciated, had to get the PotC writing urge out of my system in a manner that would damage the story in the least possible way.
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Hands.
When I was a small child, and my father would tuck me into bed, I would stare in fascination at his hands. They held me spellbound, in utter awe that this man with the neatly trimmed nails ran this island I called home.
One of the few memories I have of momma is her soft hands on my forehead when I had the fever, and how they shook when it ravaged her.
Hands tell so much about a person.
Take my husband. Calluses from years at the blacksmith's forge, but they are still so gentle I wish to weep. They are the hands of a man who works for the food on his table and a roof to keep spring rains away. But they are also the hands that give strength to those who are in need, and the hands that know right from wrong.
They are used to forge swords, and to hold a blade to protect what he believes in. They are forceful when they are needed to be, but they are always tender with me.
They are not the hands I expected to live with. Our match was not exactly foreseen, though I am thankful for it. More then thankful to be perfectly honest. I never thought that my much desired adventure of a lifetime would pale in comparison to the love of a man I had known since we were children. But it has and it does. And if I were to die tomorrow or live to see the end of the world, it will remain the same.
What do I remember best of my adventure in the high seas? Was it the daring rescue attempts? The skeleton crew? The terror of being kidnapped and sacrificed? None of it, though I do not tell people this. I remember Will.
I remember Will when he realized what Barbossa was after.
I remember Will when he took a pistol to his head to have me released.
I remember Will standing there awkwardly, knowing I was engaged.
But most of all, I remember Will as he so gently wrapped my wounds, so worried that his hands were too rough.
He's coming now; there is no mistaking his footfalls. He grins as he pops his head around the door.
"Package, Elizabeth darling."
"Well, bring it in Will."
I watch his hands as he deftly unknots the loop and unwraps the brown package paper. So efficiently they work.
He pulls out a letter first, quickly scanning it before laughing. My hand brushes against his as he passes it to me.
Mr. and Mrs. William Turner,
If this is an incorrect address, I will feel the need to drag you both out for a trip on the Pearl.
To Will- your father would have been proud of his son, and I thought you would appreciate a token of my appreciation. Consider it payment for my ship.
I look up in time to see a glint of gold in Will's hand. He tosses the coin to me, and I laugh.
"I hope that's not the really thing."
To Elizabeth- No, it is not the real thing. But I happen to know a handy craftsman that specializes in "pirate medallions" as you so put it. Now, I do expect your second son to be named after Captain Jack Sparrow, so do not disappoint.
Capt. J
Will leans close, wrapping his warm hands around mine, and I look down. They make quite a pair, the ladylike hands of the governor's daughter and the rough blacksmith's.
Hands tell you all you need to know about a person. My Will is like his hands; strong, dependable and tender as a child.
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Reviews Appreciated and all that jazz.
