I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Honestly.

Here we have a short drabble type thing with absolutely no names mentioned.

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It wouldn't last. Nothing did, he knew that better than most. Everything faded, or burnt or was ripped away from you. There was no escaping from it. There was no such thing as eternal. He wasn't even sure there was such a thing as love.

But still he wondered if the whelp would find another opportune moment. If the lass would listen to the truth that was obviously in her heart instead of the pragmatic knowledge in her mind. In other words, he wondered if either of them would swallow their pride for long enough to surrender to the possibility of happiness. Even if it wouldn't last.

For a moment, as he lay back against the hard wood bench, the shackles rubbing at his wrists, he thought he saw their future. A fairytale wedding, (no rum though) a house overlooking the sea, the lad working in a shop of his own, her looking after their two children. He pictured them telling tales about the grand adventure they had had once, when they were young and naïve.

And he saw her, laid out to rest, flowers on her breast. Died in childbirth. Very young. Very sad. Her love by the graveside, standing stiffly with reddened eyes.

Or perhaps it would be the lad, dead of stupidity in a fight against someone better. And it would be left to her to bring up the children all on her own. To be always on her own.

Or maybe it would be that they would marry for love and discover they couldn't like. Silences that stretched on for days and all thought of happiness banished with the memory of affection.

Whatever happened, there was no perfect life, no happy ever after. No-one ever got to sail off into the sunset.

He wished them every happiness, but with the shadow of the gallows fast creeping up on him, he knew it couldn't last.

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