Author Here - I don't own these guys, but I've got a plastic sword *brandishes aforementioned sword*.
Chapter Four
~~Your father lives. Set the sparrow before you and follow its flight.~~
Will refolded the letter and placed it gently inside its envelope again, careful not to disturb the remains of the red wax seal. He knew its words by heart, but to read them - to see them written by a foreign hand - brought a racing to his heart just the same.
Alive.
When Will had first received the letter some handful of months ago, he hadn't believed it. He had read it in disbelief and had dismissed it with little thought. Bill Turner was dead, he had painfully reminded himself, and forced himself to recall that he had come to terms with this. Even when setting out from England as a child to find his father, he had not held so much hope as a dull desire in terms of being reunited with him. To learn of his father's death while on the Black Pearl had only confirmed what he had feared - and secretly anticipated - for a long time.
And so he had set the letter aside, and it was only by pure coincidence, by meeting Dana Flint as she strode into his new smithy near the docks, that he had looked to it again. It had been interesting, he recalled, that Flint and this letter had come so close together. A sign if he had ever known one was what he had decided. As they became friends she showed a great interest in his exploits with Jack and the cursed pirates that had been their foes. By forcing him to recall and rethink those adventures did Flint inadvertently lead Will to his letter again.
He had seen such things - fought such things - that it was clear there was more to the world than was to be seen in an English suburb or dockside in a British colony. He had recalled his belief, and so days after dismissing the letter, Will had taken it up again.
The envelope was battered and weatherworn, as though it had traveled many leagues in order to reach him. The red wax had borne the seal of a winged stag, a unique signature whose peculiarity that had given Will pause upon seeing it the first time. The letter inside, in contrast to the envelope, was crisp and white. A simple, small square of paper, it bore in neat script twelve words that were now beginning to change his life. And on closer reflection, it was not difficult to assume what the 'sparrow' was truly in reference to.
So Will had set about finding Jack Sparrow in the hopes that his old friend would have more information for him. It had been a long time since the two had exchanged words, and Will found himself missing Jack. The man, for all his swaggering and underhandedness, had proven himself an amiable companion. Will was also interested in whether or not Jack had traveled to fetch back the rest of the treasure on the Isla de Muerta, a direction that he had surely been headed in when the Black Pearl had easily out-cruised Norrington's chase party those few years ago.
Captain Melanie Cash had been the first step. It was not difficult to contact the pirate lady as her sister was always close at hand. He recalled - with a wince - Carine's strong reminder to him that he owed her a favor in return for contacting her sister, but Melanie had come. It had seemed that the sisters were not only alike in appearance, but also in a playful fondness for the young blacksmith. Melanie had agreed to search out her old shipmate and bring him back to Port Royale.
And now Will waited. It had been months.
In the meantime, he reminded himself and moved to the window to gaze out at the gentle sea, waiting had not been a waste. Dana Flint eagerly listened to all things pirate-related, and her thirst for an education with the sword had kept Will in good form - a part of himself that he may have neglected otherwise. Yes, there was fine companionship to be found in that girl.
His eyes lingered on the ocean and the evening sun that it reflected. The ocean ... if he had learned anything from his exploits with Jack, the most important of those things had been about the pirate that was in his blood. He believed that now, looking out at the water. The water ebbed and flowed regularly and gently, like the beat of a heart, and Will fancied that he could feel his heartbeat compliment that of the sea.
Moved, he sang to himself softly:*
To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling ...
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling.
He stood quietly for a moment simply listening to the sound of the waves, when he heard a movement behind him. Dana Flint had cleared her throat softly.
"That was very pretty, Will."
The blacksmith shrugged and did not turn. "Something I heard long ago." She came to stand beside him at the window,
"You speak like an old man sometimes."
There was a small chuckle. "I don't mean to. I just don't like when things are out of my control. I'm frustrated sitting here so helpless. If my father is alive, and hasn't come to me, then I have to go to him. I can't do that without Jack."
Pause. "He'll come. I'm sure of it."
*A/N - I think most LotR readers would recognize where Will's song is from, but if you haven't read Return of the King, then shame on you! Anyway, here's the official disclaimer: I didn't write the song, the much-admired Mr. Tolkien did, and it fell originally from the lips of the prince of Mirkwood, bless his immortal heart.
Chapter Four
~~Your father lives. Set the sparrow before you and follow its flight.~~
Will refolded the letter and placed it gently inside its envelope again, careful not to disturb the remains of the red wax seal. He knew its words by heart, but to read them - to see them written by a foreign hand - brought a racing to his heart just the same.
Alive.
When Will had first received the letter some handful of months ago, he hadn't believed it. He had read it in disbelief and had dismissed it with little thought. Bill Turner was dead, he had painfully reminded himself, and forced himself to recall that he had come to terms with this. Even when setting out from England as a child to find his father, he had not held so much hope as a dull desire in terms of being reunited with him. To learn of his father's death while on the Black Pearl had only confirmed what he had feared - and secretly anticipated - for a long time.
And so he had set the letter aside, and it was only by pure coincidence, by meeting Dana Flint as she strode into his new smithy near the docks, that he had looked to it again. It had been interesting, he recalled, that Flint and this letter had come so close together. A sign if he had ever known one was what he had decided. As they became friends she showed a great interest in his exploits with Jack and the cursed pirates that had been their foes. By forcing him to recall and rethink those adventures did Flint inadvertently lead Will to his letter again.
He had seen such things - fought such things - that it was clear there was more to the world than was to be seen in an English suburb or dockside in a British colony. He had recalled his belief, and so days after dismissing the letter, Will had taken it up again.
The envelope was battered and weatherworn, as though it had traveled many leagues in order to reach him. The red wax had borne the seal of a winged stag, a unique signature whose peculiarity that had given Will pause upon seeing it the first time. The letter inside, in contrast to the envelope, was crisp and white. A simple, small square of paper, it bore in neat script twelve words that were now beginning to change his life. And on closer reflection, it was not difficult to assume what the 'sparrow' was truly in reference to.
So Will had set about finding Jack Sparrow in the hopes that his old friend would have more information for him. It had been a long time since the two had exchanged words, and Will found himself missing Jack. The man, for all his swaggering and underhandedness, had proven himself an amiable companion. Will was also interested in whether or not Jack had traveled to fetch back the rest of the treasure on the Isla de Muerta, a direction that he had surely been headed in when the Black Pearl had easily out-cruised Norrington's chase party those few years ago.
Captain Melanie Cash had been the first step. It was not difficult to contact the pirate lady as her sister was always close at hand. He recalled - with a wince - Carine's strong reminder to him that he owed her a favor in return for contacting her sister, but Melanie had come. It had seemed that the sisters were not only alike in appearance, but also in a playful fondness for the young blacksmith. Melanie had agreed to search out her old shipmate and bring him back to Port Royale.
And now Will waited. It had been months.
In the meantime, he reminded himself and moved to the window to gaze out at the gentle sea, waiting had not been a waste. Dana Flint eagerly listened to all things pirate-related, and her thirst for an education with the sword had kept Will in good form - a part of himself that he may have neglected otherwise. Yes, there was fine companionship to be found in that girl.
His eyes lingered on the ocean and the evening sun that it reflected. The ocean ... if he had learned anything from his exploits with Jack, the most important of those things had been about the pirate that was in his blood. He believed that now, looking out at the water. The water ebbed and flowed regularly and gently, like the beat of a heart, and Will fancied that he could feel his heartbeat compliment that of the sea.
Moved, he sang to himself softly:*
To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling ...
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling.
He stood quietly for a moment simply listening to the sound of the waves, when he heard a movement behind him. Dana Flint had cleared her throat softly.
"That was very pretty, Will."
The blacksmith shrugged and did not turn. "Something I heard long ago." She came to stand beside him at the window,
"You speak like an old man sometimes."
There was a small chuckle. "I don't mean to. I just don't like when things are out of my control. I'm frustrated sitting here so helpless. If my father is alive, and hasn't come to me, then I have to go to him. I can't do that without Jack."
Pause. "He'll come. I'm sure of it."
*A/N - I think most LotR readers would recognize where Will's song is from, but if you haven't read Return of the King, then shame on you! Anyway, here's the official disclaimer: I didn't write the song, the much-admired Mr. Tolkien did, and it fell originally from the lips of the prince of Mirkwood, bless his immortal heart.