"…Mon amour,

Tu es tres belle,

Comme la rose de mon couer…"

Below deck, everyone, save for Commodore Norrington, clapped. Will Turner stopped singing and put down his minstrel guitar. Elizabeth, still dabbing her moist eyes, came over to Will and threw her arms around him.

"Will," she sobbed, "That was beautiful. Where did you learn it?"

"Well," began Will, "When I was a lad living in England, I was very fond of fishing."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Norrington grumbled.

"So," continued Will, ignoring him. "One day I was fishing in the Channel, and along came a French chap, doing the same, only in France they call it, "la manche." I think it looks nothing like a sleeve…"

"Get on with it…" Norrington sighed.

Will looked sharply at him. "As I was saying…I learned the song from this French boy."

"Who was he?" asked Elizabeth.

"Napoleon something…said he was vacationing from some island. Personally, I don't think he'll amount to much."

"Nonsense…" muttered the Commodore.

"What did you say?" asked Will coldly.

"You're talking nonsense! Fishing in the Channel, ridiculous songs by the French, who, might I remind you, we aren't too chummy with at the moment!"

"Commodore Norrington, Mr. Turner," interjected Governor Swann. "This bickering is pointless! We should all settle down anyway, we've had a very long day."

"I want a turn," said Norrington coldly.

"A turn on what?" said Will

"The guitar," said Norrington, tight lipped.

"Fine," said Will, handing over the guitar.

Norrington held it somewhat awkwardly.

"Ahem, okay then," he began. "Every night in my dreams, I…"

"Oh, not this again!" wined Will.

"You think you can do better?"

"I already have," said Will, putting an arm around Elizabeth.

Will blinked. In the next instant, Norrington's fist connected with his nose, and the moment after that, he was sprawled on the floor.

"What was that for!"

Norrington did not look at him. Instead, his eyes lingered were Will's sleeve had come up, revealing a peculiar black mark.

"What is that?" he said, eyes narrowed.

Will hurriedly shoved his sleeve down. "Nothing- it's nothing."

"Then why are you hiding it."

"What is it Will?" Elizabeth asked.

Will looked down, uncomfortable. After several moments of silence, he finally spoke. "I'm an actor," He mumbled.

"What?" said Governor Swann.

"It's nothing really. Just a mark of comradeship."

"I told you," said Governor Swann to Norrington.

"What did you think it was for?" protested Will.

"Oh, he thought it was witchcraft," said the Governor. "But I of coarse said it was nonsense…"

Norrington did not expect a punch in the jaw, but suddenly there was blood dripping on his chin.

"I may be a pirate," seared Will. "But never accuse me of being dishonorable."

He turned and left, followed quietly by Elizabeth and Governor Swann. Norrington glared at the back of his skull. Then, a handkerchief lightly dabbed his cut.

"I'm fine," he said.

"No you're not," said Michelle, wetting the cloth in a bucket of water. "You're bleeding."

She continued to clean Norrington's chin. Slowly the deep furrows in his brow smoothed.

"Thank you," he said.