Consuming Flames

by stormsandsins

Elizabeth appeared beside him, a book held out in her palm. Will stilled his hammer the sound of it meeting steel was rather deafening. But she stayed near, oblivious to his silent message, instead reading out from her book.

Consuming Flames

By Caducee

The young blacksmith's arm brought down the hammer; it striked the steel true, flattening the white-hot metal. Afterwards he closed one eye, squinting the other as he knelt to measure its flatness. There was an irregularity, on he hadn't quite noticed at first, but nothing that couldn't be corrected with a little more melding. Will set the blade back into the depths of the fire and then straightened his back again, hearing a tiny creak behind him. he turned around, wiping his forehead, and started his usual greeting to customers but… no one was there.

Frowning dubiously, he shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his task. It would take a moment for the metal to melt enough to continue, but Will liked staring at the burning red coals. It fascinated him yet somehow frightened him. Bad things had happened fire had consumed the ship that was bringing him to the Caribbean, but one good thing had happened as well.

Two hands covered Will's eyes.

He cried out, at once from burning his fingers to the embers and from the surprise. "Argh! What in the name-"

The other removed their hands, cried out as well, and Will stilled his hand in mid-air. He recognised that voice, and it was not a man's.

Miss Elizabeth Swann, decked out in a simple yet elaborate summer frock, appeared before him, holding his hand between hers with a genuinely aghast expression on her face. "I am so sorry, Will! I didn't mean to startle you so."

Will winced but forced a strained smile onto his face. "I get burns everyday." He fetched a crate of cool water, dipped his hand in, and noticed she had followed him to the back. "Master Brown says no blacksmith's ever been so lunatic."

Elizabeth smiled truly. Wistfully, she added, "Master Brown says many things without looking at his reflection first."

Will grinned indulgently, then lifted his hand to the air, studying the burns. His hand was throbbing still, but Will could not see any vesicles. The skin was red around a wide white circle, but Will had work to do and it could not wait much longer.

"You shouldn't come to this neighbourhood, Miss Swann-"

She sighed, "Elizabeth, Will…"

"- I shouldn't like your father to hear of his daughter dwelling in the lower parts of the port," he offered over his shoulder. "Lord knows crooks make the docks their haven."

Will picked up the blade from the fire carefully with his tongs, turned it over to study the molten steel, then set it on the anvil.

Elizabeth appeared beside him, a book held out in her palm. Will stilled his hammer - the sound of it meeting steel was rather deafening. But she stayed near, oblivious to his silent message, instead reading out from her book:

"In 1623, Tory Lightfoot is a runaway from Boston's soul-stifling Worthen Academy for Women where her rebellious nature and mixed blood are the source of constant scorn and abuse. Seeking freedom that she knows she'll never find at the school, she disguises herself by dressing like a young man and stows away aboard a heavily laden merchantman bound for Barbados – only to be captured by pirates. Through a series of well-meant but disastrous choices, Tory winds up accepting the pirates' invitation to join their crew..."

(taken and adapted from the synopsis of The Witch from the Sea, by Lisa Jensen)

She interrupted herself, eyes twinkling, and gazed up. "So fascinating, isn't it?"

Will's gut told him to hate this pirate but from the mouth of Elizabeth any pirate's diary entry, any article from the local paper was sweet and poetic and… enchanting, even. Pirates sounded fair and recounts of sea battles with the Royal British Navy were alluring, wonderful. Will couldn't help but become mesmerised by the words from her mouth. They were lovely, true.

"Will?"

Will shook his head, surfacing to the smithy and its acrid heat. It smelled like man sweat in here, highly inappropriate for a young lady of her stature. "Yes, quite," he finally agreed, preoccupied. "You should return home… it's hot in here."

Elizabeth's enthusiasm seemed to die, but the next moment she picked up her skirts and headed for the latch-door. There, she spun to him again, "I will be back to-morrow."

And then the room felt empty once more. Will picked up the hammer and swung it hard. Sparks flew.