Disclaimer: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Disney. No infringement
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.
Summary: The flight of a sparrow.
Author's note: The final vignette in this little series, as I've now reached the end of the
movie...
Flight
by Hereswith
She had fought the undead, she had not fainted at the sight of the skeleton crew and
she was strangely proud of these facts, but not of this. Not of standing and not moving,
all prim and proper again, a fine woman indeed, scrubbed, perfumed and safe, while
he waited to die.
She had pleaded with her father and she had asked Norrington to show mercy, for
pity's sake, but it made no difference, in the end. Justice was to be done; though she
could see no justice here, and no honour.
Freedom, she thought, and she could not bear it, she felt like she would burst. She
wished for men's clothing. A sword in her hand. She should save him; she owed him
that much. But her fetters, though subtle, were as strong as his were, and failure was
bitter like tears.
And then—it happened so quickly, the unfolding of the events measured by the beats
of her heart. A parrot, a blacksmith and she, she did what she could, what she had not
done on the Pearl, in the moonlight. She couldn't breathe, while they ran, she ran when
she couldn't see them anymore. When the stone walls and the stone-faced marines kept
them from her. She cursed that bloody pirate, countless times, and she thanked God
Will was honest enough to be this incredibly stupid, many times more.
She went to them, in full view of the crowd, because she could not stay idle and keep
her head held high. And as he slipped and swayed, weaving patterns with his body, his
hands and his voice, patterns she still could not decipher and somehow knew she never
would, Elizabeth remembered. She would not forget.
Fair winds, Jack, fair winds and endless horizons.
For a moment, when their eyes clashed and he spoke so out of turn, she wanted to
prove him wrong.