Warning: Character death. Please don't hate me. This story caught hold and wouldn't let me go.
Disclaimer: I have no right to do this. I am well aware.
Summary: "It wouldn't be right, for her to go on without him." The Black Pearl's last voyage. Written for BPS challenge "Fire." Jack/Pearl, Jack/Ana friendship. PG, 350 words.
Blaze of Glory
Once, late at night when they were on watch together, he had told her a story of the funeral-ships of ancient sea-warriors; and she remembered it when the crew came to her and asked what they should do.
He seemed smaller, somehow, but the stillness in his face lent it a surprising gravity. Almost, she thought, nobility. The long, lively fingers did not dance; the kohl-lined eyes were closed.
Anamaria had done the kohl herself. His face looked wrong without it.
Gibbs' hand fell on her shoulder. "It's time, lass."
She nodded, turning away from the slight, still form resting on the bier.
"Ye sure ye want to do this, then?"
"Aye," she said. "It wouldn't be right, for her to go on without him."
The crew had gathered in a solemn little knot on the beach. Ana stood somewhat apart from them, waiting. Off the spit the Black Pearl waited too, drifting gently in the current. The tide was going out. Ana counted silently to herself: three. Two. One.
And just when she thought she'd mucked it up, that she'd have to row back out and reset the fuse, orange flame blazed up along the deck.
She let out her breath, part sigh of relief, part sob.
"He died a good death," said Gibbs, beside her, as the fire rose across the water, the black sails catching now, brilliant in the twilight.
"He lived a good life," Ana answered.
There was a great deal more they could have said, but they said nothing more. The burning ship slipped slowly away from them with the tide, as if her Captain yet urged her on to the horizon.
When Ana stirred at last, she was alone, and night had fallen.
"Goodbye, Jack," she said to the sea and to the stars. "Fair wind and weather to ye, friend, wherever you might sail."
And then she stopped, listening. For, from somewhere nearby, she'd heard the merry trill of a songbird that must have been very late to fly to roost.
A sparrow, singing joyously of the freedom of wind and wing.