Without A Clear Destination
By Caducee
"What would you do?" Elizabeth Swann asked, sitting in the wildflowers and likely making a wreath. Will wasn't looking but could hear the roots ripping from the earth.
He squinted below the bright form of the sun, not quite looking even. "If I was free?" he asked, glancing at the top of her head over the long weeds. The field seemed to stretch out forever, and the question troubled him tenfold. "I hadn't wondered - I wouldn't leave Port Royal," he added hastily. There were some things he couldn't do.
Will heard Elizabeth's dress rustling. She had straightened her back, looking at him squarely, seriously. "No?" she asked incredulously, as if what he had proposed were barmy. Then her face slackened, a dazed expression gracing her features wondrously. "I would fly away," she offered with a whimsical little whisper.
Will smiled privately. It was no secret to him what she dreamed of everyday as she woke to the sunrise reflecting over the Caribbean sea. "Where would you go?" he asked, peering to study her expression as he sat up to look at her properly.
Elizabeth's shoulders were hunched and Will was pretty sure that a lady of her station shouldn't look anything but poised and prim. He had seen the other gentlewomen do it, walking as though they floated in clouds of beautiful fabrics and laced parasols that hardly protected them from the gleam of the sun. They often swooned; their husbands or fathers made no fuss about it, instead pretending that their cherised treasures were well and just momentarily lost to the moment. But Will knew what dangers these… "corsets" entailed. Elizabeth, on another hand, despised following etiquette, even at the ripe age of eighteen. Instead she coveted dresses that were marvellous but of sufficient breathability.
She sighed, a silent cry. "Anywhere I can't be brought back. It's so boring here; I'd rather be travelling without a clear destination."
Will laughed quietly when she gazed at him with a lively beam of light striking her eyes. "You read too many pirate stories," he conceded, shaking his head at her.
He was probably the only person she couldn't hate for saying this; anyone else would have received a glare and a cold shoulder. Instead her eyes gleamed and she came closer, her dress dragging in the dirt and weeds. And then she sat next to him on the rock, her hand brushing against his, and together they forgot that he had chores to finish, and she had the Swann household to run, and they watched the sun continue its course over their heads.
Will heard her whisper some time later, "That's why it's so exciting, Will. Freedom, the sea, nothingness." He almost felt her head lay atop his shoulder, but it may have been his mind.