Title: Of the Sea
Rating: PG-13
Chapter Title: 29. Letters
Summary: And the exchange thereof.
Timeline: September 16 – September 30, 1675
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

"Kidnapped by pirates!" the woman exclaimed, with the same pity in her eyes that Miriam had seen in the faces of so many others, "It must have been terrifying!"

"Oh yes," Miriam intoned, as she had many times before, "it was awful." Her slender hand strayed to the stone on the ribbon about her throat, as it often did when she said something that was not entirely true.

She was beautiful, but not in ways most typical. Her skin was darkened by the sun, not at all the fashionably pale complexion preferred by proper English women in the Caribbean. She wore all the right dresses, the most popular styles in gowns, but she did not walk the way a lady should: her steps were too wide, too full of pride and a more wild grace than was "appropriate". There was nothing wrong in her behaviour that could be pointed out; there was just a general sense that she was not a proper lady.

Her dark hair was still short, but she was not blamed for that. There were countless stories about why the pirates had forced her to cut off her hair. Some said she had done it herself to appear less attractive, but if that were true, she had failed dismally. She was too striking, too full of unleashed beauty. Her eyes were as grey as the ocean on a cloudy day and full of humour, and she was never without a ready supply of quick wit and crude jokes on the tip of her tongue.

There were times though, when she would smile as sweetly as any maiden, play the roles that were expected. She would smooth her gown with fingers still callused but no longer ingrained with pitch and salt.

"And that... that Jack Sparrow, was he very cruel to you?" the woman went on.

Miriam frowned, as was expected of her. "Captain Sparrow," she said, gently inserting his title as she always did, "is a pirate, after all."

"Oh, yes, of course," came the response, "I'm so very sorry my dear... it must have been a horrible experience, for such a young, respectable lady as yourself."

Young, Miriam thought, hardly. And I'm even less respectable than that. There was a pause, an uncomfortable silence before the older woman went on, completely changing the subject as many often did when they ran out of the proper sympathy, "That is a lovely stone you're wearing."

Miriam gave her most sickeningly sweet smile. "Yes, it's beautiful. A very dear friend sent it to me."

---

"Randal!" she called joyfully, a grin on her lips. She stopped just short of hugging the man, instead standing a proper distance from the grubby sailor who eyed her with a cheerful glint in his green eyes.

He was a good man, although he was dirty and smelled of the sea. She laughed when she thought what Norrington would do if he knew the rescued captive of pirates, she who had suffered from that horrible illness brought on by the see, was down by the docks, associating with a common sailor no less. He saw her as a noblewoman because she must be for pirates to bother kidnapping her. She did not object; it was better than being called what she was, a pirate, and hanged for it.

"Miss Sharp," he said with a crooked-toothed grin, "pleased t'see you."

"Indeed," she responded with a slight curtsey that was followed by a sly smile. "Might I ask a favour of you?"

"'Course. I'm glad t'be of service t'ye."

"You're too kind," she said, reaching into the small bag she carried at her side. She pulled out a small envelope with a black seal. It clinked as if coins tapped together within it. "You mentioned that Queen's Mercy is setting off for Tortuga tomorrow..."

"Aye," he agreed, eying her with a conspirator's air.

"Could you please make sure this envelope gets to The Faithful Bride there?" she asked, and then added, "It's very important."

He arched a brow suspiciously, "Tortuga? The Faithful Bride? That's not the nicest place, miss."

She smiled sadly, shrugging her shoulders as if to say, 'What am I to do?' She nodded, "I know, I know... but the owner may know the whereabouts of my cousin, so it's very important that he get this letter."

Randal smiled. "Aye, in that case, I'll be sure it gets there."

Miriam found it difficult not to grin triumphantly, but she managed. Instead, she reached again into her purse, and withdrew a few shillings. She pressed them, along with the envelope into his hand. "A few shillings for your trouble, and I thank you."

---

"Cap'n Sparra'," the portly owner of the Faithful Bride said, approaching the table where the eccentric captain was sitting with a mug of ale. He lifted his head, looked at the man, a slight frown on his lips.

"Aye?" he acknowledged with a question on the edge of his voice, his kohl-lined eyes darker than usual, though it may have just been the poor lighting of the tavern. His tone was vaguely suspicious, his eyes narrowed.

"Got a letter for ye."

"Ah, thank you," Jack said, suddenly brightening. He held out his hand to receive the somewhat tattered envelope, which read in a simple script, "Captain Jack Sparrow." Turning the envelope over, he peered at the torn black seal which had once held it closed. He looked up at the barkeep, who shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Was deliv'ed that way, Cap'n," he said.

Jack smiled at the barkeep, reaching into the pocket of his coat. He withdrew a few shillings, pressed them into the owner's hand. "For your trouble," he said, and then turned away, waiting to be left alone. He then pulled the folded sheets of parchment out of the envelope and read.

September 15, 1675

Captain:

First, my thanks, and you know what for. I trust you then agree that Morgan is indeed mine. She's adjusted well to life in Port Royal, and seems content. She brings me some joy in a life that is otherwise dull and filled with the frivolousness of what they call "polite society". I will not bore you with the details of what I can only call my very futile existence.

Second, I do still have your hat. I will, as agreed, restore it to you when my property that is aboard the Black Pearl is returned to me. I assure you that I am in no rush, and so my effects may be brought to Port Royal at your convenience. In fact, I would warn you to wait, as it may arouse suspicion if my old belongings were to suddenly appear.

Will and Elizabeth are doing quite well. They have been very kind hosts and I have been enjoying my stay with them as much as is possible. Elizabeth is a very bright woman and I admire her to a certain extent. Will is so very much like his father, his heart full of his wife and his veins full of the sea.

The child should be born sometime in December or January, or so the doctor says. Despite a near miscarriage due to illness earlier this month, it is growing well. I am told that I am very lucky, and that it was a very near miss. Everyone, it seems, is constantly telling me how lucky I am, that I shall be so happy to have a child, what an excellent mother I will make. They tell me they are sure I will find a father for the child, as if I could pick one up at the market square, as if they have forgotten the circumstances under which everyone knows it was conceived, as if suddenly they no longer believe it to be your get, but a fatherless child whose parents can simply be assigned. If only life were so simple.

I'm so very tired. This parasite in my gut is sucking my energy from me, but that is not all. I am so tired of this acting, of all the parts I must play on this island. I am not a proper English lady, I'm a pirate. I am slowly approaching the point where I'd rather hang than face another day of this ridiculous charade. You need not worry; Englishmen won't give the noose to a woman with an unborn child in her belly. Men of conscience, indeed, although I believe a proper gentleman would put me out of my misery. At least then my body might find its way back to the sea.

Yes, you were quite right. My blood is filled with the rising tides, the reflection of the moon on the ocean's waves. I am a pirate and my veins will always be full of the sea. I imagine you are much the same way, only you have a ship beneath your boots while I have "good solid earth" beneath mine. I miss the ocean the way a one-armed man misses the limb he lost. I miss the uninterrupted horizon; I miss the ship that was my home, if only for a short while.

I miss you, Jack. I knew that I would, but it seems so much worse to have it be true. I didn't think it would be possible to miss anyone else, besides Bootstrap, but you've proved me wrong and I almost hate you for it—almost. I don't think it would be so bad, if I had someone to talk to, but I don't have the heart to tell Will or Elizabeth the whole truth of where I've been, and I don't want to admit to anyone else that I miss you, as much as you sometimes infuriated me. Sometimes I wish I'd pretended to be asleep that morning, and not kicked you out of my bed. Don't ask me to explain it, I can't, all I can say is that it might have been nice to stay there a little while longer. It wasn't as bad as I made it out to be.

I'm sorry, Jack. I can't tell you what for, the list would go on for pages and pages more than these, and so I'll leave this letter here. I wish you fair winds and good sailing, Captain Sparrow.

Yours,

Miriam Sharp.

Her signature was blurred by the drop of a tear, and Jack shook his head sadly. What she had begun with a business-like tone she had finished much as he had expected: with pain, and a poorly-disguised cry for help.

It had been over two months since she had been with the Pearl, standing proud and tall with eyes as sharp and dangerous as steel. She had been cold to him that day, a woman with a heart of ice, she had looked to him with disdain and insults had been on the tip of her tongue. An act, though, he knew, and that was all. He remembered well the words she had written on a scrap of paper, the heat of her hand as she had pressed the crumpled parchment into his palm.

He had known then, somewhere in his heart that he preferred to pretend did not exist, that she would hurt. It was tragic to read of her pain, to see her words of hopelessness scrawled on expensive parchment and tucked into an envelope. It was inconvenient that he was not its only witness.

----

He still remembered her words, though without purpose, understanding them but thinking that somehow he had overlooked her meaning. Ships are like women, and whether he'll admit it or not, every man wants one to call his own. And there's always, always that one girl, or that one ship, and the second her sees her, he knows: she's the one. And from that moment on, his heart is hers, and no many how many others he sails or sleeps with, they won't be enough. He understood. He had been like that with the Pearl, he had needed her before he'd had her, and when he'd got her he'd needed nothing more. He knew what she'd meant, but the words still echoed, and he knew not why.

It was with those words still floating in his skull that he gave the order to set sail from Tortuga. They would make their way to Port Royal again, quick as the wind would take them, and the sweeps, if it came to that. Though such a matter was usually decided by a vote, the crew trusted their captain enough to believe he had good reason when he determined it was necessary to arrive in Port Royal with all haste, as he had once before.

---

There was a knock on her chamber's door, and she sighed, standing. She placed the weather-beaten tri-corn back on her desk, smoothing her skirts carefully. Her face arranged itself into the neutral mask she often wore, the gentle smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Come in," she called.

The door creaked open, as it if were hesitant. The maid stepped in, her skirts rustling about her feet.

---------

September 23, 1675

Dear Miriam,

Someone read the letter you sent me; the seal was broken. I don't know who delivered it, so I can't deal with the situation myself. I leave it in your very capable hands. I hate to think what they'll believe you meant by certain parts... In any case, be careful. Leave future letters at The Rogue and Dog by the docks in Port Royal. That way you can deliver them yourself and I'll pick them up. Be sure to give the barkeep a few coins. I'll leave future letters with him as well, addressed to Raven. He's trustworthy enough, but don't make yourself easy to recognise... you should be good at that.

To be honest, Morgan wasn't the only one to miss you. Take care of yourself.

Jack.

---

He cared not much for the woman who had taken to hounding him. She sat next to him, wrapping her arms around him and whispering indecent proposals in his ear. Jack ignored her, sipping distractedly at his ale. The Rogue and Dog was an establishment of much the same sort as Tortuga's Faithful Bride. It had an ill-lit tavern on its main floor, and small dusty rooms above. He would be sleeping in one such room that night, but it was still too early to retire.

Instead he let his mind wander away from the prostitute who was vying for his attention, and gazed about the room. It was lit by flickering candles and filled with the raucous, drunken laughter that was so common in such places. Normally he would find a group of pirates to trade stories with, and then a pretty girl to spend the night with, but on this evening, he was not interested in any of it. He merely wanted a good excuse to shoo his would-be seductress on to her next customer, and another mug of ale.

When the barmaid came, she did not pass him another tankard. Instead, she gave him a small piece of paper, and said only, "From the barkeep." Then she left him to look after her with a bored expression of mild confusion before he unfolded the parchment. He recognised the script from two previous letters, although this one was far more succinct. It read only this: "Thank you. MS."

"Excuse me," he said, standing and impolitely pushing the strumpet aside.

---

Author's note: ... Okay, it's been exactly how many months since my last update? Heh... heh... sorry. I've been crazy busy with school, I actually wrote this in late September and got too busy to post it or write anymore. I'm actually working on an original work at the moment, but as I struggle with blockage on it, I may perhaps write this to keep my writing talent flowing... grin Talent, as if, right? I swear I will try and update more regularly—maybe not every week or every day, but often enough that it doesn't seem like I'm dead. I really have been recently, just from sheer exhaustion, but I've been thinking about this fic a lot lately, and you know, I miss writing it, so here's to hoping I'm back for the long haul.