Author's Note: Well, here we are! Chapter seven! And, honestly, I had high hopes that this would be the last chapter…however, it got away on me and it appears there will be at least one, if not two more chapters still coming. I would just like to state now that I took the artistic license of giving Will's mother a name and creating my own background for his life. Just my take on things, don't get up in arms about it. I swear, I did intend on getting further in this chapter than what happened, but the thing sort of took off a bit more than I had originally planned. There is a little bit more of Jack Sparrow perspective at the end. He's a highly entertaining character to write for. So once again, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review – I really do appreciate it! And please, review if you can! Thank you so much. So without any further ado, I bring you the next chapter!
Failing Hope
Chapter Seven
Written by - Pinto
The blacksmith shop had never been an attractive looking building. The aging wood had not been touched since the day that the last nail had been pounded into its timbers and the neglect was showing. The gray dryness could be seen from a fair distance and spoke of more years than what the small store had seen.
Will Turner ran his hand along the rough wood appreciatively as he entered the small shop. The rickety door creaked with a habitual groan, and Will faintly smiled, appreciating the familiarity that the blacksmith shop provided.
Upon entering, the scent of straw and must invaded his senses, but that too was comforting and familiar. The dusty straw snapped underneath his feet as he made his way deeper into the building. Even though he had not entered the main forging area, Will could detect a light snore coming from within. He rolled his eyes. At least some things never changed; Mr. Brown was obviously still in another drunken stupor. But checking on Mr. Brown was not Will's motivation nor top priority for being here.
It was still early morning, and the first rays of dawn filtered through the cracks in the sideboards and spilled onto the filthy dirt floor, creating a mockingly golden glow. Purposefully, Will strode through the dusky shop and soon found his way to a narrow and well-hidden staircase. Without a second thought, he began to make his way up, the old wooden stairs creaking indignantly underneath the young man's weight. Undisturbed by this sound, Will progressed up the stairs, finally reaching the pinnacle, which led into a small, cramped room. Will's room.
Soundlessly the young blacksmith moved over to a small and bare sagging bed. A raggedy, yellowed quilt covered the bed's flat, slightly lumpy mattress. Will sank onto the mattress and it groaned in response. Unaffected, Will reached underneath the bed and pulled out a small trunk, only several feet in either dimension. He gripped its weathered sides and pushed the top open.
A moth fluttered out, attesting to the age of the chest. Will mindlessly brushed it away in annoyance and eagerly delved into the trunk. When he brought his arms back, a long cloak hung from his hands. It was a deep maroon, made of strong fabric. Will set it on his lap and reached into the chest again, this time pulling back a large, somewhat-flamboyant hat. He smiled distantly as he ran his fingers along the edge of a downy long feather that protruded from the hat. He remembered the day that he received both of these articles of clothing clearly, for it had been the same day that the pirate medallion had come into his possession.
"Will, there is a package for you." The soft voice of Theresa Turner floated through the tiny dwelling, quickly reaching the ears of a young Will Turner.
Jumping up from the midst his wooden toy soldiers' war, the small boy raced out of his miniscule room and into the adjoining small kitchen. The idea that a package had come for him was extraordinarily exciting – never before had such a thing happened! He skidded to a stop in front of his mother and looked up expectantly, avidly eyeing the rugged brown parcel that she held.
Smiling, Theresa admired the eight-year old boy that stood expectantly in front of her. William looked so much like his father, mostly through his dark earnest eyes, and it dug deeply at her heart to realize the similarities. She allowed her smile to disappear and let a solemn look settle on her soft features. "Have you finished your chores?"
Eagerly, the dark haired child nodded. "Yes, Mother, I finished feeding the pigs an hour ago." Even though Will easily attested to his work ethic, Theresa could see that his eyes never wandered from the package that she still held.
Nodding in approval, Will's mother slowly allowed the package to descend within her son's reaching range, and he quickly snatched at it with child-like impatience. She pulled it back again, resting a single hand at the back of her head, in effect, restraining her long and wavy light brown hair. The look of disappointment on Will's face nearly made Theresa hand the gift right back, but she held her ground.
A light tug at her long, patched skirt indicated that Will was not at all amused with her sudden change of mind. She laughed lightly, moving her hand from her own hair and letting it settle on her son's head. "Before you take it, don't you care to know who it is from, my son?"
A puzzled look overcame the dark features of the child as he pondered that observation and he glanced up again and nodded, hoping that he would then get the package back. "Who is it from?" He kept his hand entwined in the heavy skirt of his mother's garments.
At this statement, Theresa allowed herself to smile again and handed the package back to William who eagerly accepted it. "Your father, Will. Your father."
A shocked gasp came from the eight-year-old as he stared incredulously at the brown parcel in his hands. "Papa?" A nod from his mother affirmed his question and he quickly hugged the package to his chest, refusing to let it go. "May I open it, Mother?" Anxiousness pulled at his words, even as he spoke them.
She nodded, waving her hand in the direction of his small room. "Go on, child."
With an excited smile, the boy ran off to his room, the package never leaving the tight grip in which he enveloped it. Theresa watched him until he disappeared and then reached over to a low shelf, pulling a parched piece of paper out and unfolding it. The sparkle in her light brown eyes faded as she carefully reread every word that was scrawled across the letter's surface.
My Dearest Theresa,
How I have missed you, my love! The open seas are a cruel and hard life, but it is the thought of you and Will that keeps me strong. Speaking of the lad, how is he doing? I miss him terribly, but I fear I will be on the seas for several more years before the possibility of return may be possible. The package that I enclosed is for him and will hopefully make my separation from him less painful. I hope to return to you someday, my dear, but I will not make false promises that cannot always be kept. If I do not return, please, tell Will how sorry I am and that I wish things did not turn out as they have. I love you.
With all my love,
William
By the time her eyes reached the end of the letter, the sides had been crumpled by her tightly clasped fingers. A tear traced its way down her cheek and fell from her face, landing onto the parchment and darkly smearing the shakily lettered ink. A hole had worked into her stomach and tied her up into knots. William wasn't coming back.
While his mother realized the reality of the package and letter, young Will had quickly settled down onto the worn throw that covered the center of the floor in his room. He set the package down in-between his legs and stared at it for a moment. This was a package from his father! With a thrilled, childish grin, the young boy ripped into the paper, quickly unwrapping the parcel
Underneath the crinkled brown paper was a poorly made wooden box, and ever so carefully, the young boy lifted the cover from the top. A gasp came from Will as he reached in and pulled out a long cloak – far too big for the child. His smile widened, which was an astounding feat for such a small child. His other hand dug into the box and pulled out a hat. However, this was not any ordinary hat – its rims were carefully crafted and curved gently upward. Most importantly of all was the feather. A long, dignified feather plume extended from the hat's lip, whiter than the whitest snows. The boy's fingers trailed along the feather, delighting in the soft touch that it provided.
Soon Will noticed that there was a small piece of paper tucked alongside the feather in the hat, and he gingerly pulled it from its spot. After unfolding it, his eyes trailed over the words that had been painstakingly scrawled. Will was taught from an early age to read, something his mother felt absolutely crucial if the boy was to ever make anything of himself. The letter was simple and provided no challenges for the child.
Dear Will,
I hope you like the presents that I sent you. The cloak and hat both came from merchant sailors that were returning to Spain, and I simply had to buy them. If you ever wish to be a sailor someday, you must have the proper attire, after all. Also, the medallion I have sent you is another trinket I picked up while traveling. Please, keep it safe and secret, Will. I will try to return home to you someday soon. Take care of Mother until my return.
Love,
Papa
Startled by the revelation that there still lingered treasure within the box, young Will quickly snatched the package again and looked in. There, nestled in a far corner, lay a single medallion. It shone a bright gold, and a skull stared from the center of the coin, accented by the jagged edges surrounding it. Mouth wide, Will lifted it out of the box, resting it in his palm. His father entrusted him to the safety of this beautiful object, and Will was willing to do whatever it would take to carry out his wishes.
Pulling a dulled silver chain from underneath his loose shirt, Will carefully removed it over his head. He unlatched the chain and slid the gleaming medallion onto it. The only other charm on the necklace was a dull silver cross. The medallion nearly covered the cross, almost choking it out.
Footsteps grew closer to Will's room and with a panicked expression, he quickly pulled the chain back over his head and tucked the necklace beneath his shirt once again. Obviously, his father trusted this medallion to him for some reason, and he did not want his mother to find out about it.
Theresa's soft footsteps stopped as she towered above the smaller boy who sat on the floor, trying to conceal the guilty look that was trying to creep onto his face. She smiled and knelt down by Will. He glanced furtively at her before quickly looking away.
"What did your father send you, Will?" She rested a hand on the soft material of the cloak and waited for her son to tell her all about his presents.
Excited by the opportunity to show someone the contents of his package, a bright smile lit up his face, erasing the unease that had been there previously. He lifted the cloak up, allowing his mother a better opportunity to see the garb. After a moment, and noticing the appreciative smile on her face, he lowered the long garment and picked up the beautiful hat and placed it on his head.
"He sent me the cloak and this hat." He smiled, only faltering slightly as he remembered that he should leave the part about the medallion out.
Theresa placed a thoughtful look on her face, making it seem as though she were carefully inspecting the gifts. "These seem to be fine garments, indeed, Mr. Turner."
His mother's interest in the clothes thrilled the young boy to no end and he swirled the cloak around his shoulders with a dramatic flair. He raised his eyebrows, surrounded by the excessively long cloak. "I could be a pirate!" He exclaimed, trying out his most intimidating look.
The smile quickly fell from Theresa's face and she reached forward, gripping her son's face between her hands and forcing him to look at her. "You will never be a pirate, William." She spoke softly but urgently, hoping to make the young boy understand. "Piracy will never be what you search for. Promise me that, Will."
The urgency in his mother's eyes took Will aback, but he nonetheless nodded, hugging his mother as he spoke, hoping to reassure her. "No, I won't Mother." His face had crumpled in an expression of confusion at his mother's worry.
She shook her head, not releasing his face from her gentle hands. "Promise me, child." Her voice was strained as she pleaded this from her only son.
The boy, frightened and confused, blinked back tears that burned in his eyes. Why was his mother acting like this? Determined to make things better, he nodded fiercely, ignoring the tight hold that his mother still had on his cheeks. "I promise." He whispered voicelessly, covering Theresa's hands with his own.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Theresa tightly wrapped the boy into a hug, a tear of relief slipping down her pale cheek.
Will gripped the hat tightly, his throat constricting at the emotions of the memory. Not until now had he understood why his mother was so upset over his statement. Now he knew. She found out that his father had taken up the life of a pirate and did not want her son to become the same. And yet, here he was, prepared to take on yet another act of piracy. How many times would he break the promise that he made to his mother? More importantly, how badly did he really want to keep that promise that he made so long ago?
Standing up suddenly, Will grabbed other clothes from about the room and went about changing. What did it matter anymore? His mother was dead, his father was dead, and one of the only friends he ever knew was about to be killed. And Elizabeth? The thought of loosing her nearly was enough to kill him. Will pulled a black leather belt around his stomach and firmly cinched it, then quickly he reached back to the bed and took the cloak and fastened it about his shoulders. No longer did it swirl about his feet in piles, but instead hung several inches above the ground – a perfect fit. The hat also fit to his head seamlessly, as though he was born to wear it.
As he made a move to exit the room, he paused. This was his last chance to think through what he was about to do. This was his last chance to change his mind. His answer, however, came quickly and he knew that there was no turning around. It was time for him to decide, but deep down he knew that his decision had been made long ago. Placing a hand on the hilt of his sword, Will dashed from the room and headed to the gallows.
The early morning sun had just broken the horizon. Far too early for this sort of thing, or at least in Jack Sparrow's opinion it was. He glanced disdainfully at the looped noose that swung tauntingly back and forth in front of him. The pirate was fighting the urge to release a largely over exaggerated yawn. This situation was quickly growing old and tedious. The captain had lost count of the number of times that he had stood in this rather uncompromising position on top of the gallows. But then again perhaps he never had really been keeping track either.
Jack cast a gaze across the swarms of people that had gathered to view this apparently joyous event. The captain begged to differ at that rather skewed point of view. His dark rimmed eyes landed on a slightly disgusted looking Ms. Elizabeth Swann. He felt it was appropriate to give the young woman her dues, for she had fought for his release until the moment when they had locked him away into the jails. Will Turner, surprisingly, had snuck soundlessly away and no one knew where he had gone to. Jack had a sneaking suspicion that the son of Bootstrap was planning something typically stupid. Jack truly hoped that it was nothing like the plans of good old Bootstrap himself. For all of the man's excellent pirating qualities, escapes were not one of them. Disastrous would be the more appropriate term, Jack mused.
"Jack Sparrow, be it known…" The nauseatingly prim voice of the official cut through Jack's thoughts as the grim ceremony began.
An aggravated sigh escaped the pirate and he rolled his eyes briefly heavenward, not amused by these people's inability to recognize rank when they saw it. "Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow." Was it really that hard to simply add that uncomplicated prefix to the beginning of his name?
Either the official did not hear Jack or he chose to ignore the irritated comment from the doomed man. He simply continued talking, listing off the many offences of Jack Sparrow. "…for your willful commission of crimes against the crown. Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature. The most grievous of these to be cited herewith: piracy, smuggling…"
This time a yawn did escape Jack and he easily ignored the blatant stare from the executioner. Executioner. What a dismal title. Perhaps the man would lead a more optimistic life as a pirate. Jack certainly believed this to be the truth behind the matter. A little piracy was all one needed to get a real rush out of life.
Throughout this train of thought, the official had simply continued listing Jack's numerous crimes. The pirate tuned in briefly to hear several of his personal favorites. "Impersonating an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy…" Bloody good time, that was.
"…impersonating a cleric of the Church of England…" Jack was sure that he could detect a slight snivel in the man's voice as he told of that one.
A smile snuck onto Jack's face as he remembered the enjoyable times that he incurred while staying in the English church. "Oh, yes…" Those nuns were never to be the same again. What had been his purpose in doing that again? Oh bloody hell, what was the difference anyway? He was sure that originally he had a good principle for the whole state of affairs.
If it were possible, the executioner's expression grew even darker at the smug smirk that had appeared on his soon-to-be hung prisoner. Jack, in order to amend the entire situation, shrugged helplessly and gave the man an apologetic smile. Dark eyes stared back coldly, flatly rejecting the warm gesture.
Shrugging again, Jack averted his attention back to the official who was gallantly concluding his speech. "And for these crimes you have been sentenced to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul."
The pirate had a sneaking suspicion that the official really could have cared less regarding the immediate care and concerns regarding his soul. Jack also wondered how else one could be hung by the neck, if not until dead? Perhaps hung until mildly winded? That sounded infinitely more promising. Resignedly, Jack let out a breath as the executioner slipped the noose around his neck. The coarse rope rubbed at his throat.
Jack looked up to the skies, enjoying their open freedom one last time before the bottom dropped from beneath him. The sound of the drums pounded into the pirates skull and he fought to block them out. The salty aroma of the sea taunted the pirate, and a brief flitter of sadness swept over Jack, knowing that he would never chase the horizon again.
His gaze turned downward and he stared out into the crowd. The eagerness for his death shone in their eyes. And they called him a bloodthirsty pirate. He begged to differ. A quick movement through the throngs of people caught Jack's diverted attention and he stared as he saw an…incredibly flamboyant hat pushing through the crowds. He paused, studying it carefully. He had seen that hat before. He knew that hat! The sudden shout through the crowd quickly affirmed his suspicions.
"Move!" Will Turner's voice ripped through the crowds and people quickly scrambled to get out of the desperate boy's way.
The last thing Jack saw before the platform beneath him dropped away was Will's sword hurtling toward him. Well, isn't that just bloody fantastic.
Then everything turned into pandemonium.
TBC…