Chapter I : Leda and the Swann

Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

The windows framed the moon-tinted light as it sprayed over any object accosting its path. Dimensions of the small room better exposed by the lantern on the nightstand lighting its surrounding reluctantly. Will Turner folded the pillow under his head, increasing its incline to allow him a better view of the crimson luminance adorned by the woman that lay next to him in a tangle of sheets. The events of only moments before twitched his lips in a smile. He loved her so much. All of her. Her independence, her fiery determination, her passion, the challenge she held; he vouched for it all, lest one trait. Her vulnerability. He never liked seeing her as a vulnerable weakling. That was not his Elizabeth at all and he didn't like the look of fearful helplessness she had submitted to earlier this night. A look that he had hoped they buried in Isle de Meurta with the ghosts of undead. He still remembered when he saw the utter fright apparent from the small opening of the cave, she stood proudly but visibly shaken. Trying not to let on the horror and uncertainty she felt bravely, her eyes giving it away mercilessly. He traced loose golden brown strand painting a swirl on the ghost white sheets while he made a mental note of asking her the cause of her anguish first opportune moment he gets, when she stirred.

"Will?" she called sleepily, "can't sleep?" Winking an eye open to gouge time from the lunar streaks, she placed her full gaze to him.

"No. Thought I had better things to do," he grinned mischievously at his wife.

"Mister Turner," she retorted chidingly, registering the smirk she know all too well. The smirk that meant her husband wasn't quite done with her yet, "may I remind you the navy's order that you've taken up will not be filling itself, and all those shei-," her taunts were caught in the grasp of his lips. He broke the kiss reading her face, "tell me my love," he started, thinking this to be as good a time as ever, "why did you seem so troubled earlier. Is something bothering you?"

She breathed a sigh caressing his cheek thoughtfully, "it was-no matter." At that he frowned but didn't further his inquisition. Elizabeth could tell he was put off by it but she hadn't even comprehended the source of distress herself to confide its pertinence with him. "Good night darling," he cradled her face after they broke the kiss for a moment. His eyes conveying readiness whenever she found hers to share. He drifted back in the cuddle of the bed closing his eyes in resignation.

"Will," she whispered, pausing, unsure of how to further, "the dreams. They are back."

o

"Captain!" Anamaria shouted from the helm of the ship, "would ye care to tell me why we be setting course to Port Royal of all the blighting places?" He swaggered a walk contemplatively towards her partly to spare the rest of his crew from the accusatory high pitched voice. "'cause we must." He flashed his golden teeth, "and its Jack to ye."

Anamaria knew the discount always came with a harmless but perverse smile. She frowned, her concern overtook the itch in her hand and she choose to ignore his efforts for now. They were to dock Tortuga for their occasional rest stops. All the crew looked forward to the privileged few nights of rum, strumpets, and entertainment. Not to mention the quick raid made by another pirate ship not two hours back had left the Pearl needing a few repairs that can be resourcefully made in Tortuga. "They got what they wanted Cap'n. Not like they took anythin' of value," then curiously eyed her captain who devoid of her presence stood twisting his mustache searching for something in a distant, "what did they 'ave ye be writtin' on tha' parchment anyway?"

"Tha's the thing love. They didn' take anythin' of value." With a cryptic reply he left her side, as usual leaving his company in yearning desire.

o

"What do you mean the dreams are back?" Will turned to face her. Glad that she finally wanted to share her thoughts, without fully understanding what she meant.

"The dreams. Remember before I was kidnapped by that pirate. I had dreams of when I've seen the Black Pearl," registering his still arched brows, "I always get this bad feeling before something horrid is to happen."

"I know darling but you said you saw me. The dream was of the day you rescued me. I should hope that was a good dream," he joked to lighten the mood. Surprised at the rock of the woman he knew to be his wife into an incredulous worry casted by a mere dream. She snuggled into his chest cursing herself in silent consternation of revealing her pre-mature and most probably meaningless peril. "I told you it was nothing."

Will combed her tresses relaxed but not fully satisfied with the answer, "If it is nothing then why do you let it bother you so?" He felt her posture stiffen under his embrace for a moment before she melted back in his form, "I don't know. It just always happens. Father says my mother was the same way. She had good instincts. You know like how some animals can smell danger." The thought was outlandish for a practical person like him, he was no Gibbs to be certain and he knew neither was she. "Darling, since when did you started believing in these superstitions? Hmm..." he cupped her cheek and gazed into her now angry eyes.

"I don't know when I started believing in instincts," she corrected emphasizing, "perhaps it was since I bumped into undead pirates whom wanted to kill us for some cursed Aztec treasure." She gritted, flopping the sheets over herself as she turned her back to him. Her anger was more to the awareness of how unconvincing the idea was of Barbossa being an imminent threat or for that matter returning even to herself. It was a mistake to indulge in this conversation and share the peril when she didn't even understand the cause. She could tell though that something wasn't right. She could always tell, oddly.

Yes any dream was worthwhile when he was in it she thought back to the day they had rescued Will. She never told him how fearful she felt for him when she had awoken from the dream or how she had fished the medallion out from the drawer in anticipation. She hardly ever wore that medallion for security of the treasured possession in unspoken acceptance of her love. That day however, she felt it would be kept safer, close to her heart. The protectiveness of the vow that was emblem of the golden piece. She had clutched it even as she had denied Will's potential as her suitor to Estella and watched the rapid breeze defeat the wavering light as she had. Even then she had wondered of Will. Of his past. Of his connection with the medallion.

She was brought back from her contemplations by the rustling of the sheets. "Don't go to bed angry," he kissed her cheek, "or you shall never be rid of the hauntings that concern me." She grinned without facing him. Forever amazed at the effect he had on her reknowned temper. "Goodnight my pirate." She said lightly. As if given consent, an arm snaked around her protectively, in a habit. She sighed and gave in to the clutches of sleep.

o

Another pebble delved into the water pooling a resonance of circles far bigger than its plight. The lady clad in a decorative gown which spoke highly of her social status sat idly by the pond under the unaccomplished shade of an autumn ridden tree. Clasping another small pebble betwixt the puzzle of red, orange, and yellow she threw it absentmindedly, when she heard the dreadful footsteps.

"My dear, why is a lady of propriety such as yourself making acquaintance with dirt?" came the indifferent voice of Weatherby Swann.

"Sooner or later we all have to make acquaintance with dirt, Mr. Swann." Mary Swann spoke morosely. Dusting off her soiled dress she had stalked off from the man she didn't love, yet he persisted in her life; the man who was her husband, unbidden to her wishes; the man whom she was custom to bed, resulting in the child that grew inside of her.

oOo

Author's Note: I feel that names are very important to a story. So I've very carefully picked them and made sure they were popular in the era I attribute them to. I know right now there is too much going on and there are too many questions but I promise if you stick around they will be answered. Hopefully now I've at least put the question concerning the Willabeth's vigorous sex session to rest. (and its semblance to a soap. p.s. I wouldn't be caught dead watching a soap! Savvy:P). Seriously, I love my reviewers so much. Your encouragement/constructive criticism is why I write at all.

- Added the name of Mary Swann's husband. Thanks for making a note of it williz.

Leda and the Swan: Yes, I added an extra "n" for effect. Just be glad I didn't name Mrs. Swann Leda! Not very subtle at all, so much for "toning down the soapy effects." Okay I admit I considered it until I found out it wasn't a probable name for a maiden. For those of you not aware of the mythical reference the title, as well the opening few verses of the poem convey I thought I'd add this synopsis. William Butler Yeats's daring sonnet describing the details of a story from Greek mythology—the rape of Leda by the god Zeus in the form of a swan—was written at the height of the poet's career, the same year he received the Nobel Prize for literature. "Leda and the Swan" is a violent, sexually explicit poem that has all of the lyricism and complexity of Yeats's later work, with its plain diction, rhythmic vigor, and allusions to mystical ideas about the universe, the relationship of human and divine, and the cycles of history. It can be seen as a poem about the way a single event is to be understood as part of a larger scheme; the result of the god's assault on Leda is the birth of Helen of Troy, the subsequent destruction of early Greek civilization, and the beginning of the modern era.

The four lines that I've quoted in the beginning of the chapter are the post-incident (rape) allusions. I hope the end of the chapter can help you hazard a guess as to why I picked them.

Interesting fact: Mary and Elizabeth are both Hebrew names. Don't worry I am not religious and there BE no religious overtones.