Disclaimer: I don't own anybody at all in Pirates of the Caribbean. Bruckheimer, Verbinski, and the Great Mouse own them all. I don't even have a claim to Depp, Bloom or Davenport. Dang... I do own my sanity, what there is of it – although there are some who know me who would say I never had any to begin with. Anyway, please don't sue. I'm just a state employee trying to survive from paycheck to paycheck, so I don't have any money to pay you. November 2005.

Author's notes: This Elizabeth ficlet hit me out of the blue a couple of weeks ago and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. Many thanks to Geek Mama and Gamine for their wonderful encouragement, to Rach for her excellent Wikipedia-ness, and to Kellen for her ever lovely editoress-ness. At three o'clock in the morning my time, no less. J

And when I start making up words and rhyming them, it's time to stop babbling and get on with the fic. I hope everyone enjoys my first attempt at Elizabeth! And as always, when using power tools, please remember to wear safety glasses, and for the love of Pete, don't be pettin' the cursed monkey! He still bites!

NEVER WAVER,

NEVER WANE

BY

KAHVA

Poor lass, abandoned in her time of need!

Should never have married that boy... He was not the one for her!

He'll not show, and she'll be all alone. Poor child...

Elizabeth shut out the memories; she had enough pain to bear without her own mind replaying the cutting words of the snippy gossips about Port Royal. Every word was a wound, inflicted with precision, efficient to the core, sharp as...

"Sharp as one of his swords," she whispered raggedly under her breath. A quick glance around the bedroom showed that she had not been heard by Estrella nor any of the other servants fluttering about anxiously. The scream she could not hold back garnered the attention that had previously been avoided though, as Estrella ran over with a wet cloth, offering what comfort she could.

"Shall I send for your father, Miss?" the faithful servant asked. "He's been waiting in the library – "

"No," Elizabeth whimpered, the latest wave of pain slowly easing. Her father had insisted upon moving her back to the mansion the month before, declaring that she could not, should not be alone. Who would look after her, with her husband gone? Elizabeth had insisted on several occasions that she would be perfectly fine in her small home. After all, Estrella had come into her service wholly after the wedding, what other help could she possibly want or need? But here, right now, as the last of the ache dulled enough for her to think about something other than her pain - if only for just a moment - she had to admit that in this one instance her father had been correct. The pain was just too much to bear alone!

And if Will could not be there by her side, knowing she was in her father's house and that he was willing to do anything for her was of some comfort. Knowing if either he, or Estrella had any doubts about Will's ever returning that they would keep it to themselves for her sake... that small bit of knowledge was a balm to her aching heart.

Oddly enough, it seemed that the only person other than Elizabeth, her father, or Estrella, who would openly and publicly express confidence in Will's fidelity was James. Even now, she knew he was still trying to find some word about him, some assurance that the sea had not claimed her husband by either misfortune, fell deed, or seduction. That was what the gossips had believed at first, that the voyage back to England had not been to present his work to the Guild, but to escape from responsibility. He could have been declared a Master right there in Jamaica, there had been no need to sail.

They don't understand him. They never have, Elizabeth thought, staring out the open window as she lay in her old bed. Normally she would have welcomed the clear blue skies with joy, but today the cheerful brightness of the day was almost unbearable. He could have been made a master blacksmith here true enough, but a master swordsmith? Perhaps, but recognition from London... "Have any ships arrived today, Estrella?" she asked, trying to ignore the sudden wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.

"I've heard no word Miss; shall I send someone to ask?"

Elizabeth nodded, this game was old and familiar now. Send a boy down to the docks, what ships have come in today? Has a letter arrived? Everyday the answer had been the same: no word, no letters – at least not from Will. "Yes, please. Thank you, Estrella." Elizabeth bit her lip, now fighting back tears. She had to ask every day, now that Will was overdue to return. If she didn't ask, it would mean that she had surrendered to the doubts that threatened to infiltrate her heart. It would mean that she had lost her faith in him, and she would never stop believing in her blacksmith pirate. Where others had faltered – if they had even believed in him to begin with – her faith in him would never waver, her love never wane. She would not fail Will, nor he ever willingly fail her.

That was the greatest fear she had, and the one that would undo her resolve if she dared give it too much thought. Will, struggling to return to her, claimed not by the siren singing to his pirate blood, but by the cruel whim of the ocean. The ship he had been due to return on had been lost at sea, a handful of survivors rescued by the Dauntless the only witnesses to Nature's wrath. None on the longboats knew if a Will Turner had ever boarded the ship in Bristol, any documents or letters long since lost to the sea. Gossips were easy to ignore. The possibility of an unpleasant reality coming true though... Those thoughts invaded her mind much like Barbossa's men had invaded their lives two years earlier, and were just as unwelcome as those undead pirates had been.

Elizabeth screamed again, an almost unearthly howl as the pain chose to strike while the weakened young woman was at her most vulnerable. There was a commotion somewhere outside, raised voices, anxious shouts, calls for the doctor, someone being told not to go in there just yet. Who were they keeping from her, her father? Were they afraid this would be too much for him? His own wife had been lost like this when Elizabeth was still very young, were they afraid the same would happen to her? She closed her eyes tightly; if she could shut out this reality, maybe it would go away and leave her in peace at long last.

Elizabeth fought her way to happier times, remembering her wedding day. Will, looking very much the part of a handsome young noble, except for a slight fidgeting caused by the tightness of his fancy new shoes. The day had been bright and surprisingly calm, such a stark contrast to the day their love had been made public. The only escape made that day was one of their own: stealing away to the smithy, sneaking up to the room that Will would no longer sleep in on a regular basis, and for a few glorious hours there was no governor's daughter, no orphaned blacksmith with the blood of a pirate. For those precious moments they were simply man and wife, and society's expectations be damned. "Will..." she whispered, focusing only on the memory of him.

There he was, preserved in her mind with far more clarity than any portrait commissioned, even one ordered by royalty itself. She could see his dark, wavy, untamed hair writhing free of the black ribbon bondage required by society. It fell about his glistening face, then caressed her cheek as his lips danced across her throat, his breathy endearments mingling with her attempts to remember how to breathe. Were they setting the smithy on fire, or was that the lingering scent of yesterday's smoke? No, it was him: smoke, fire, sweat, steel, wood and – rum? He told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, that he had loved her from the very first, and would do so to his last breath and beyond. She told him he was her angel, handsome and fierce, a good man, a blacksmith, a pirate... her love for all eternity. Then the memory became feeling, sound, the pounding of hearts, a sharing of love too long denied.

Elizabeth... he had moaned. I love you... She could feel him with her, feel his body lying with hers, feel his warmth, his scent embracing her again, once again mixed with rum – why rum? Had that been there at the beginning? Elizabeth tightened her hand in the sheets, why was she remembering rum? There had not been rum at the wedding – was there rum in the room now?

"Elizabeth, I'm so sorry. If I had known..." A strong, work-worn hand carefully worked the sheets out of hers, then tenderly clasped it. "I am so sorry, please forgive me?"

That voice, his voice... Had he come to her as a spirit, seeking release? His voice was breathy as always, but strained, cracked with torment, pain and guilt. "There's nothing to forgive," she whispered, not daring to open her eyes. If she did, then his spirit would leave... and if he couldn't stay, then she wanted to leave with him.

"Please look at me? Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth whimpered, tears creeping out from under her eyelids. She could never bear it when Will felt the need to beg. It seemed to her that all his years of unknown hurt slipped unwanted into his voice when he would plead. If his spirit needed her to open her eyes, then she would. The hand holding hers was real; it just wouldn't be him at her bedside when she opened her eyes. Finding the courage at last, she opened her eyes.

"Elizabeth..." Will breathed, claiming her mouth with a gentle kiss.

"You... You're real?"

"I've been assured by someone we know that I'm quite real, and very much alive," Will smiled, brushing back damp, dark blonde curls from Elizabeth's face. "And I've got the broken ribs to prove it." The young man chuckled then, and favored her with a lopsided smile. "I've also been given a few bottles of rum to celebrate with later."

Elizabeth couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. Fear seized her heart with its mighty grip, daring her to believe that this was indeed her husband holding her hand, that he had just kissed her. If she breathed, spoke, blinked – he would disappear, and all of this would have been some cruel trick. A light breeze wafted in from the open window then, cooling her brow and stirring up the scent of rum once again. She breathed it in, blinked, and the man holding her hand was still her husband, not an apparition to be blown away by the wind. Her free hand traced the stubble on his face, fingers lightly brushing against the bandage wrapped about his forehead. Will took her hand, kissing her fingertips, the sleeve of the ill-fitting, yet strangely familiar leather coat he was wearing slipping down just enough to reveal the beginnings of yet another bandage. "Will!" she exclaimed, then pulled her husband's head down for another kiss, this one not so gentle on her part. She claimed him as hers, challenging Fate and the Almighty himself in that one kiss to dare to try and take her love away from her ever again. "How..."

"He was separated from everyone else when the Lady Mary sank," came Commodore Norrington's voice from somewhere near the bedroom doorway. "It would appear that Mr. Turner is forever blessed – or cursed – to be found lying unconscious on floating wreckage by a passing ship. Although considering his injuries and just who found him, he's fortunate to be here at all," James chuckled dryly.

Elizabeth gave the Navy man a puzzled glance, then watched as Will carefully removed the coat he'd been wearing, being mindful of the broken ribs he'd mentioned before. With a start, she realized just whose coat that was, and her eyes darted back to the open window. Were those black sails racing for the horizon, or just a trick of the light? A quick look back at Will gave her both answers and questions. "It is a very long story, one which I will have to tell you later, because the mid-wife is here, and everyone is telling me that I'm about to become a father? Elizabeth, if I had known you were with child, I never – "

"Shh..." she said, reaching for his hand. "If I didn't know, how could you have known? And yes Mr. Turner, you will be telling this story later," Elizabeth ground out, as her labor pains returned anew.

"Yes, Mrs. Turner," Will smiled, ignoring the doctor and the mid-wife's urgings for him to leave so that they could tend to his wife.

Hours later, husband and wife were lying together on fresh linens, their newborn daughter sound asleep in her mother's arms after having been fed. Port Royal was celebrating the happy occasion, but only in the Governor's library was there pirate's rum flowing, toasting the new parents, the new life brought into the world, and the safe return of one Will Turner. The gossips were recanting their doubts, even pretending they had never said a single ill word about their highly skilled blacksmith, certified as a Master by the Guild in London. Tomorrow would be soon enough to speculate on just how he came to be returned to Port Royal by the Black Pearl, and whether his injuries had been a result of the Lady Mary's unfortunate fate, or had happened on the pirate ship itself. Tomorrow would be soon enough to speculate on whether or not Will Turner had even sailed from England on the Lady Mary to start with, or if he had been on the Black Pearl the entire time.

Tomorrow would be time enough to hear Will's story of what had happened to him while he was gone. All Elizabeth cared about was right then, about lying safe with her husband and child. Will had once told her that he believed true love never wavered or waned, but grew stronger no matter the trial... if one could just hold on to that love and truly believe in it. Perhaps that would be another story to have Will tell tomorrow, just who had taught him that? But on this night, watching her husband as he gently laid their daughter down in her cradle, it was enough to know that whoever had told him?

They were right.