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A/N: 40 reviews???? Do I deserve this monumental treatment? Thank you! **Hug** That's really sweet of you guys…I was hoping the new chapter would be a start to a good new story, and I'm glad at all of the responses I received. Here's chapter two!
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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's EyeHow Fate Flies
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"Would you please explain this?"
Governor Swann raised his eyebrows in an attempt to hide his outrage. "Explain what exactly, sir?"
Sir Raleigh Etheridge cleared his throat and gestured to the paper sitting atop of the mahogany desk in his office. "Explain your daughter's connection with these…pirates."
The governor stiffened and folded his hands behind his back. "I don't feel that is relevant to our acquisition of Jamaican territories. In fact, I see no relevance at all." Damn the man, Governor Swann swore silently, squeezing his hands behind his back. Pompous, insignificant diplomats who are completely –
"Yet there is a relevance, Governor Swann," countered Etheridge, rising stiffly from his seat behind the desk. The sixty-some-odd year old representative of the colonies of Jamaica wore his spectacles low on his long, thin nose. His icy blue gaze met Governor Swann's as he walked around the desk and said matter-of-factly, "The gist of it is, governor, this is a tarnish on the reputation for us landholders in the Caribbean."
The governor could hardly hold back his anger as he responded, "Are you saying that my daughter is an insult to your reputation?"
"Hardly," came the monotone reply. "I'm saying that your son-in-law is a convicted murderer of one of the most respectable commodores in the English navy."
"Convicted?" Swann gave a short, forced laugh. "Convicted? I read about no trial, Sir Etheridge. In this great empire of ours, one cannot be convicted properly without a trial."
Silence ensued while Etheridge studied the governor before him. Then, his wrinkled and sun-soaked face crunched into what seemed to be a smile. "Please think realistically, my good man. How would the public perceive the efficiency of a governor whose only daughter is married to a murderous outlaw? And what's more, that very governor is now meeting with the Royal Parliament, deciding our country's future existence. That," the man bowed slightly, "is why this is in good need of an explanation."
Dumbstruck and finding himself crumbling slightly under the man's demanding and pretentious gaze, Swann steadied himself. He cleared his throat and straightened himself. "I shall find out the details, Sir Etheridge," he found himself saying.
The man offered another forced smile. "Good. I'm glad that we have reached an agreement, then. You are to go back and settle this matter once and for all. We have arranged for your trip back to Port Royal. You shall return within the year, once all of this has been put to rest."
You mean once all of this has been buried, along with Will Turner, the governor thought maliciously. Etheridge seemed to read his mind. "You must understand, Governor Swann, His Highness King James' reputation as a worthy ruler is already unsteady, as you know. He has many enemies; his relation to pirates, however vague, could be used as a crutch against him. Meeting with a man whose daughter is married to a felon is not healthy for his reputation. The King is expected to bring order to his people, order to the colonies." Etheridge reached for a sterling silver teapot, and poured himself some tea carefully. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a slight sip, setting the cup down next to him. He turned back to look at Swann. "This incident has been published in all of the major newspapers under England's flag. It's extremely grand news, governor, and it has made some people rather nervous. You understand, don't you?"
All the governor could bring himself to do was nod.
"The pirate age was thought to be over. But with the emergence of Turner and this Sparrow character, it seems as though the age is returning with a vengeance. The His Highness needs to act decisively and without mercy. It is his only diplomatic solution." When Swann didn't respond, Etheridge gave a quaint cough and offered his hand. "I'm glad this will all be dealt with properly, good sir."
"Yes, good day, Sir Etheridge." He gave a slight bow and a forced smile, and strode from the room, closing the oak-inlaid doors behind him. Exhaling, he shook his head and rubbed his temples. Contempt for the English diplomatic committee came flooding back to him. He narrowed his eyes and gazed off into the distance, momentarily wondering what in God's green earth he was going to do.
I can't betray my daughter's husband.
But the message, however vague, had been startlingly blunt to the governor.
Kill Turner and save the reputation of the King. Or suffer the consequences. If he helped Will, who was declared a pirate, he would be charged with the "aid of piracy", or, in other words, the compliance to commit a felony.
And the consequences of aiding a pirate were not superb by any means. A pirate was a felon. A felon was a traitor. A traitor was a danger to the King, thus a danger to all of England's loyal subjects. And only one fate awaits a traitor to England.
Death.
~*~
As the world slowly came back into focus, the man moaned. Salty air filled his nostrils as he inhaled deeply, filling his slightly stagnant lungs. He wished he could sit up, but he knew it was no use; the thousands of sounds and smells were all rushing at him at once, and he was afraid if he rushed into the land of the living too fast, it would knock him back down again. Which, needless to say, would be the last thing he needed.
"Dolan?"
That's my name.
Isn't it?
"Dolan."
Of course it's my name. Bloody hell, what a fool. Don't know my own damn name.
"Dolan…"
"Aye?" Blurry light-filled surroundings met his eyes as he opened them, first the left one, then the right one. He looked up into a woman's face, terribly out of focus and almost blocked out by the excessive sunlight invading his eyeballs. He squinted and saw her face. It was a delicate cream color, her chestnut hair flowing down to meet him…
I'm dead. How bloody peachy.
"Damn it all."
"What?"
"I'm dead," he responded dully.
The sound of melancholy laughter filled his ears. "Not yet, you aren't."
Warm liquid reached his lips and he drank fully, silently grateful to the angel who gave it to him. It was a dull, watered-down tea, but to him, it tasted like honey from the Promised Land. "Thanks, reckon."
"Your welcome."
A sudden understanding overtook him, and he asked abruptly, "Elizabeth?"
"Yes."
"Oh." He was about to say I thought you were an angel, but that sounded ridiculous even to his ears. Especially considering she was married and with child…Turner-boy would have him hanging by his fingers from the main mast.
"What happened? Where am I? And why the hell am I so goddamn confused?" he asked, frustrated with himself. He sat up and felt a wave of nausea hit him, but he ignored it as he swung his feet over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. They were on a ship; he could tell by the obvious swaying of the floor under his feet.
"But we were just in a cave."
"Pardon?"
"A cave…you know, with rocks? And crevasses? And…holy mother, and Barbossa." He suddenly remembered everything…except how he got here. "Wait…are we…is he…what happened…did you…?" He realized how thick he sounded, so he shut his mouth, took a deep breath, and looked at Elizabeth. But before he spoke, he noticed the look on her face, and felt his heart sink.
Her cheeks lined with old tear stains, her hair tangled, her face smeared with dirt, she looked as if she had been to hell and back. Her eyes were dull and mournful, her lips curled slightly downward in a modified pout. Light rings lined her eyes and from the slackened facial features, Dolan guessed she hadn't slept in a week.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he mumbled, forgetting his aggravations. "Elizabeth…what happened?"
She looked away, and he saw her bite her lower lip. She remained quiet for a long moment before answering. "Nothing…nothing. It's nothing."
"Like hell it is," he rebuffed. He grabbed her arm as gently as his uncoordinated motor skills could muster. She looked at him, and he saw she was crying. "Nothing, eh? That be why you're crying, then, reckon."
Elizabeth pulled her arm away and wiped her face furiously. "It's nothing," she responded, somewhat bitterly. "Nothing you can concern yourself with."
"Oblige me and make me concerned with it."
Elizabeth looked at him resentfully for a moment before the slackness returned to her otherwise beautiful features. "Jack and Will…were punished…tried to stop, but…Ratherford, that bastard…" Her explanation was racked with uneven sobs as she struggled to hold back her tears. Dolan felt himself swell with uncertain rage as he saw how upset she was.
Jack and Will, punished? And who the blazes is Ratherford?
"Shhh, calm yerself, lass. Shhh." He waited for her sobs to die down before he pressed the matter again. "What happened?"
As Elizabeth explained the events that had transpired, Dolan's entire soul fell flat. However, it was somewhere in between the cave-in and Jack's whipping, Dolan felt his body fall numb. The warm realization that the man he had hated was his very rescuer had been overshadowed by the news of Bill Turner's mysterious return, Anamaria's grave injuries, and Jack and Will's accusation for murdering the commodore.
"He whipped Will and Jack?"
All Elizabeth could do was nod. All Dolan could do was prevent himself from killing Ratherford.
"How are they?"
She paused. "Will's unconscious…he's healing well, though…I see him every day when I'm not looking after you or Anamaria. His wounds have begun to close, and the stitches he was given are beginning to take hold. His back is less swollen, and his slight fever has disappeared…he'll be better shortly," she added, more to assure herself than to inform him. She wiped her face again, leaving red streaks along her tears' trail. Dolan peered at her a few moments before asking, "And Jack?"
Elizabeth bit her lip again, and she shook her head. Dolan felt his heart rise to his throat. "What did that mean?" he growled, growing alarmed. Again, Elizabeth turned away from him, inhaling deeply, but refusing to answer. He grabbed her arm again, this time none to gently, and she gasped in surprise. "What happened to Jack?" He repeated.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but a muffled sound came out instead as her eyes welled with tears again. Now completely and wildly concerned, Dolan stood up and stumbled to the door. His legs gave out twice before he successfully managed to exit his room, and he practically had to crawl to a door on his left, hoping that was where Jack was. Growling in frustration at his lack of physical wellness, he felt a sharp pain in his right side as he pulled himself up, using the doorknob as a sturdy means of support. He heard Elizabeth make directly for him, but before she could stop him, Dolan threw open the door.
Struck dumb, all he could do was crumple to the ground again in blunt shock. Ingrid, who had been sitting at the bedside, stood up and cried out Dolan's name in a mixture of relief, happiness, and sadness. She grabbed his underarm and helped him up, embracing him and speaking to him. But he was too busy focused on the limp form that was Jack, lying in the bed, face down, his back exposed to all who dared to look.
Dried blood, bits of flesh, along with blood-drenched rags, completely covered the pirate. His shirt had been removed in order to give the wounds room to heal. Lashes covered his back, but unlike anything he had ever seen before. They were not defined lines; in fact, Dolan couldn't make out where Jack had been lashed. His whole back had been mutilated mercilessly, for what crime, he could not imagine.
He let out a disgruntled groan of rage, shock, and disgust. He refused to move closer, but he couldn't tear his eyes away either. As he stared, he noticed that beads of sweat formed on Jack's back and bare arms, as well as on the nape of his neck. His face was turned away from Dolan, but the rum runner knew that the pirate was in grave condition.
"…caught the same fever that he had the first time Ratherford laid hands on 'im," commented Ingrid soothingly, eyeing Dolan. She treated him carefully, trying not to spark a momentarily low flame burning in his gut. " 'is sick, alright…but Jack'll make it…too strong not to, crazy man that 'e is…"
Even though Dolan wasn't listening, he knew Ingrid was just saying it to make him feel better. Other than that intuition, he wasn't hearing her at all. In fact, he wasn't seeing, he wasn't smelling … he wasn't perceiving anything. All he could hear was his heart pulsate in his chest, his heavy breathing coinciding with his dried out mouth and clenched jaw. He eyed Jack again, noticing every blood-stained rag, seeing every fleshy wound, comprehending the very slow, deliberate rising and falling of Jack's back.
"My God…"
It was all he was able to say.
"My God…"
~*~
Oh, the vicious Gods…
"The ship's mine, Sparrow. All mine."
"No, mate. The ship has a mind of her own."
"AYE! Yes, Jack, she does. But where be her mind today? She's letting me strand you on this island, all alone…funny how fate flies, isn't it?"
…he was on the island, soaking wet, holding a compass that didn't point north, a dulled sword, and a pistol with one shot…one shot that was meant for one man…
…the rum had made it all better. All of his bitterness, his sorrow, his contempt, his rationalization and logic…all of it, drowned in one bottle. He could almost feel the waves lap at his feet, tickling his bare toes and sun-burned calves…
…oh, to be free…
"But what a ship is…what The Black Pearl really is…is freedom."
…to be free from the hellish heat that surrounded him, to be free from the agonizing pain that tore through his body, to be free from all consciousness, all worry…
…he wished for that beach again…to be stranded with his rum, comforted by its burgundy glare and its soothing persona, without responsibility or strife…
…or pain…
…oh, the pain!
…He wanted to be back in Tortuga, laughing with his crew at the Wayfarer's Inn, to be dancing with Anamaria and Gibbs and Cotton and his parrot…to be standing on the deck, staring out into the moonlight with the wind at his back…to be genuinely happy…
…happiness…what a fleeting sensation, happiness. It never lasted long; when it came, it vanished without saying goodbye. Only when he was captain of The Pearl was he ever truly happy.
But his happiness had washed away…
…oh, the pain, the suffering…the heat, swelteringly burning his every motion…
"Had enough, Sparrow? Shall we whip you for each year you have been engaging in piracy?"
…oh, he had, and he did…whipped him well over the number of years he had been a pirate…whipped him to the point of unconsciousness, just like Will.
He had prayed for death countless times, but it had never taken him…the cool calm had teased him but refused to dominate his mind…the days, the weeks, the eternity of agony that he had suffered…
But to die now? After everything, after all that he had done? Foolhearty, really…pirates aren't supposed to die, prostrate and helpless at the hands of a merciless commodore…
…the pain came in waves now, thick, hot, molten lava waves, lapping at his flesh, drowning out any ounce of rationalization left in him…
…to die…
…no, don't die…what a waste, Jack, what a waste of a life…
…no longer captain, no longer in control, no longer infamous, no longer a pirate…
…no longer alive…
…but no matter how heavy the waves of pain came, or how relentless his body convulsed in fits of sweat and chill, he would not surrender. He would not give in to his body's weakness…he would not give up…he would not become another pirate who had left his name behind him as he moved on to the unknown depths beyond life…he would survive.
I'm Jack Sparrow…and I'll live to be captain again. Because what a ship is…is freedom. And before I die, I will own freedom…
~*~
"Delusional, you say?"
"Yes," responded Alcott, standing at attention in Ratherford's office. "Completely delusional with a high fever. To be honest, sir, I don't know how he could survive."
Ratherford's eyes narrowed as he gazed at the guard in front of him. "That bad?"
"If I may be so bold, sir, you bestowed him forty lashes."
"Yes, so I did." His lips curled up into an evil smile. He remembered whipping Sparrow until he cried out in pain, until his body went limp like Turner's. It had been weeks since the lashing, but he remembered it vividly. He had given Sparrow what he deserved…what all pirates deserved. Turner had gotten off lucky, simply because he is the son-in-law of Governor Swann. If it had been up to him, Turner would be off just as bad as Sparrow. He glanced up at the awaiting soldier. "You are dismissed, Alcott."
"Aye, sir."
Glancing down at his map, Ratherford plotted a few more points, outlining his journey back to Port Royal. He had made remarkable time, and should, if all weather conditions permitted, a safe and uneventful landing in the harbor by tomorrow night.
Nighttime was the perfect veil of protection; he could not afford letting the villagers see Turner's current condition. Although the word would get around, none of the townspeople would believe his cruelties unless they saw it first hand. For the Ratherford they knew was a gentle soul, a boy who had been an orphan, his parents abandoning him in a hole full of lust, greed, and crime.
He had only been back to Tortuga once since his parents abandoned him there; during his training, he had been stationed at the small military base to "keep order" in the town. To try to "keep order" in the town was like finding the greenest blade of grass in a field. But his return had left him more resentful of pirates than he had ever been. He hated their flamboyant lifestyles, their freedoms and lawlessness and greed. He wished every pirate a humiliating death.
Every pirate. That included his father.
He was too young to know his father's real name. He knew he sailed under the Jolly Roger, and he knew his mother was a local whore. They had found him too much of a responsibility, and left him to fend for himself in Tortuga at the tender age of four. A kind soul had taken him in ten years later, and sailed him north to England, where he had enlisted into the naval service.
He found out some years later that his mother had died of typhoid. As far as he was concerned, it's what she got for using her body as a means of support. As for his father…he never heard anything of him, nor did he really care.
Thus, his hatred of pirates flared within him more than ever. Yet no one must know of my harshness towards Turner and Sparrow, Ratherford promised himself. No one. Luckily, the only evidence there was to his actions were the two pirates themselves. Still, his reputation would not be tarnished. He would, for the first time in his life, be respected by all.
And if that meant eventually destroying the all evidence, so be it.
~*~
Interesting? Please review! Next chapter: Captain Kidd…huzzah.