Subsist
By Suslin
Elizabeth Swann's father has forced her to marry Commodore Norrington instead of Will and the young lovers are heartbroken. How will each survive in their new situation? Will Elizabeth find love in the serious commodore? Is Will destined to be alone? Suggest your own characters and plot ideas.
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Oh god, I wish I were dead, thought Elizabeth Swann savagely as she started down the aisle, one hand gripping her bouquet of flowers like it was the one thing on earth that could save her from her intended husband. As she strode down aisle, held high, she fiercely defended her love for Will Turner. Oh, how she loved that man. In the mix of things, she knew they were meant to be together. The way she knew it was he when his shadow fell across her. The way she knew what he was going to say before he even said it. How they just couldn't be apart for long periods of time. She knew because her heart was aching. She felt him at his forge, working furiously on another sword, trying to blot out the wedding bells that were ringing in St. Mary's.
Elizabeth followed her right arm down to her hand where it was resting atop her father's. She contemplated digging her long, shapely nails into the back of his hand, but thought better of it. She clenched her teeth. How she would like to tear the neatly powdered wig from his bald head and throw it down, spit on it, then scream at him.
"Father, don't you love me? Don't you want me to be happy? Don't you want you want me to marry for love? Because if you love me, you don't show it!"
Elizabeth tried let the anger overwhelm her so that it would be more likely for her to do something rash and hurt someone than it was for her to cry. She bit her lip hard and tried to think of all the reasons why she was mad at her father and at Commodore Norrington, but her anger slipped and gave way to sorrow. Behind her veil, her lip started to tremble and her throat began to knot. She bit her lip harder, but that brought tears even more quickly to her eyes. She refused to show any tears. She would be strong. She loosened her death grip on her bouquet and felt along length of the stem of a white rose, searching for a thorn. She found one, finally, and she dug her finger into it. The sudden pain made her gasp and her father looked at her, concerned. She forced a smile and was about to mouth "corset", but she realized she had overused the whole corset business. She would have to find some other horrible invention of fashion to blame.
Elizabeth looked down at her lace glove and noted that a dark red stain was spreading from the puncture mark. She pressed her thumb against the incision to stop the bleeding. She had mastered her tears and she felt brave enough to look ahead.
She raised her eyes to her soon-to-be husband. Oh, yes. There was the happy groom waiting for his happy bride. Elizabeth scowled, but then experimented with smiling genuinely. She felt her lips twist awkwardly. The smile did not reach her eyes and she knew the smile looked false. She stared at Commodore Norrington, trying to coax something out of his face that would help her from her stupor. Nothing. Of course not.
She looked around her at the smiling faces, at all the expectant people who were watching her progress towards the altar. Not one of them looked sorry for her. Oh yes, it was a smart match, the commodore and the governor's daughter. What a wedding it will be. And they look so good together. Damn them.
They were almost at the altar now, and Elizabeth gave her father a steely glare as he passed her on to Commodore Norrington. His face split into an unfamiliar grin and Elizabeth felt herself smile slightly in return. He took her hand eagerly and they stepped forward. The priest opened the Bible to a bookmarked page and began to speak.
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Will's hair was dripping with sweat and the sharp, controlled anger in his movements made the pearly beads fly off the soaking strands. He ground his teeth and reached for several different pieces of steel. He stacked them on top of each other, then shoved them into the furnace. He heated the different layers, then yanked them from the direct fire and began to hammer them into one piece with a furious intensity. This is a sword, Will thought to himself, forged by fury, in the fires of fury. He put the steel back into the fire, reheated the now brick- sized piece, then folded the metal half crosswise once it had become soft enough. It is a sword of fire. A sword to cut and burn. As he folded and refolded the steel, he drew the piece out every so often to hammer it back into the rough size and shape of the sword he was making. A sword made in anger. He beat at the steel, his emotions shifting. And a sword made in sorrow.
He took a knife that was beside the anvil, then sliced down his index finger. He dropped the knife then squeezed the cut, letting a few drops of blood fall onto the blade. He shoved the metal back into the fire and folded the steel over the blood. A sword made from my blood and my sweat. He pulled the steel out again and squeezed more blood onto it. After a while, he began to feel dizzy so he stuck his finger against the hem of his shirt, applying pressure onto the cut from the other side of the cloth. He kept it there for a minute, then continued heating and folding the metal. He folded the blade over and over until it had been folded 313 times. He wiped the sweat from his brow in one sharp stroke, but then he paused. Wedding bells were ringing in the distance, joyful peals echoing down through the city and into the harbor. Will lowered his arm. His hands were shaking. Fury and anger overwhelmed him more than sorrow. How could they do this? Marry Elizabeth off to the Commodore when she didn't even love him? If he loved her at all, then he would her to marry whomever she wished. Me. She loves me. But after today, we'll barely see each other anymore. She'll move to a new house who knows where and will have to do all sorts of housewife duties. Will clenched a fist and slammed it against the stone wall of the forge. Imagining Elizabeth with another man brought him so much anger, he couldn't stand it. How would he know if he was treating her right? The answer: he didn't.
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Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut. How was she going to do this? Would she just give up without a fight and say, "I do" or would she scream "Never!" and run from the church to Will?
"Elizabeth, are you alright?" She heard Commodore Norrington ask. Elizabeth sighed. Perhaps I can learn to love him. Perhaps it won't be so bad after all. And if it is, I can just poison him one day. Or poison myself. Either way, I would be rid of him. Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked into Commodore Norrington's. I hope you will endeavor not to make me lament this day.
"Yes, I do." There was a tremendous rush of air that swept over her. Did I just say that? All of a sudden, everything around her seemed so far away, unreal, as if she was seeing her life through a thick pane of glass. She didn't hear the priest day "You may now kiss the bride," she only saw Commodore Norrington bend down towards her. She closed her eyes and his lips brushed against hers. They were dry from nervousness and they felt like dead leaves against her mouth. He stepped back, licked his lips then beamed. There was cheering and clapping and Edward, for that is what she would call him now, took her hand and he pulled her down the steps and they ran down the aisle together, everyone throwing flower petals as they went. Outside there was a white carriage with pink flowers draped across it. Two milk-white horses were harnessed to it, their manes and tails braided with pink ribbons to match. They shifted from foot to foot and snorted amid all the excitement and the crowd that suddenly surrounded them. Edward Norrington helped his wife into the carriage and they were taken to the village green where the party would take place.
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Will lurched to his feet, then took the piece of metal up in his hands again. He cut, ground and hammered a curvature into the blade, then began the process of hardening the metal. He heated the blade, then quenched it in a light oil. He did this repeatedly, then moved over to the clay oven on the other side of the forge. He placed the metal in, then started to heat the oven. The metal would slowly be heated to 400 degrees over about two hours in the oven, then his least favorite part.
Will jumped as there was a sudden racket outside and a clatter of hooves. He heard something hit the door and he ran to the window and opened the wooden shutters. A carriage bedecked in pink was rolling past and in it he saw the radiantly beaming face of Commodore Norrington and the stricken face of Elizabeth. Her eyes sought out the blacksmith's shop and as they rolled past, their eyes met. She raised an ungloved hand to him and her eyes glinted unnaturally with unshed tears. She smiled sadly at him, then mouthed, "Goodbye Will." Then she was gone.
Will pushed himself from the window and closed the shutters. He moved through the shadows of the forge, tears streaming freely down his face. In his mind, he began flirting with the idea of using his new creation for a purpose other than practice and pirating.