Elizabeth walked beside her father, hands primly clasped at her front as she knew she should, shoulders back and standing tall as she knew she should. It was custom the day before Christmas for her father to take her to the town shops for treats and presents. He thought those were what she loved most about the outings. However, Elizabeth simply enjoyed the company of her father—the upcoming holiday one of the few reasons he would box away his role as a governor to favor his role as a father. Moments of her father's time were Elizabeth's favorite gifts of all.
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at the sound of laughter on the balmy island air. She realized the laughter came a little girl a handful of years younger than herself, a little girl coming down from a fit of laughter from what Elizabeth could only imagine was thrilling, to be tossed up in the air then caught and placed upon a parent's shoulders. Elizabeth's father, Weatherby Swann, was not only proper, but careful and guarded with her, especially so since her mother passed years back, a moon cycle before Christmas.
Enough time passed that Elizabeth didn't dwell on her grief for her mother. Regardless, Elizabeth was so young when her mother sailed on from this world that her memories so fragile, remembering more so her mother's essence than any particular distinctness about her. But she remembered her voice and she remembered her laugh—clear as a bell—and the peppermint tea she drank year-round, the cups doubling during the Christmas season. Weatherby reminded Elizabeth this time each year that her mother was always one for a holiday. For this reason, he did up birthdays and Christmases big, trying to fill her mother's absence.
Elizabeth drew her coat in closer on herself at the thought of her mother. As if Weatherby sensed what was troubling his daughter, he steered Elizabeth toward another shop although a moment earlier he said they were to return home. At the sight of the toy ship in the shop window, Elizabeth's eyes brightened. This shop was one of her favorites.
"One last stop," Weatherby said, smiling down at her as he stood before the door, waiting for the footman to open it.
Elizabeth delighted instantly at the warmth, not in temperature which was natural at Christmastime for the Port Royal, but at the ever-cheerful presence of the woman who welcomed them in.
"My favorite customers! Our little dreamer, Elizabeth," the shopkeeper called out, waving. "Merry Christmas to the Swanns."
Weatherby opened his mouth to reply but Elizabeth chimed in first.
"Merry Christmas, Miss Genevieve," Elizabeth piped up from behind the desk, earning a well-worn in smile.
"Merry Christmas," Weatherby echoed with a small smile of his own before making to look around. Elizabeth nearly followed when Genevieve gestured her forward.
"Lizzie, Darling girl, I have just the thing for you," Genevieve murmured, reaching into the case behind the counter. She reached beyond a wooden sleigh and pulled down a doll, the sight making Elizabeth suck in a sharp breath of awe.
"Why it's a—"
"Pirate," they said in time.
Genevieve nodded, grinning. "I noticed you kept looking at the ship in the window nearly all year. I reasoned it needed a Captain."
Elizabeth instinctively reached out to hold the doll but pulled her hands back, discouraged. She knew her father would disapprove. He didn't like her discussing pirates, let alone playing as if one, even if imaginary.
"I never asked to take a look at the ship as I would never be allowed," Elizabeth explained, looking towards her father who was thoughtfully studying the collection of books in the corner. "Anyway, a pirate can't be a pirate, let alone a Captain without a ship."
"Oh, but he can," Genevieve answered, a knowing silver quality in her voice that made Elizabeth wonder why she sounded so sure. "This one can."
The shopkeeper reached over the desk and handed down the doll which Elizabeth gently held, tracing her finger over the frock coat she wished was big enough for her to wear and the trinkets adorning the doll's hair, peeking out from a tricorn hat. She ran her finger over the muslin cloth, tracing where a set of eyes, a nose, and a mouth should be. A face. It ought to have a face. She said as much to herself in a barely-there whisper.
"Left that up to you, Dearie. Anyway, I could never capture such a face."
"You mean he's real? A real pirate Captain?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes wide.
"If you believe he's real, he's real. That's how it works this time of year, doesn't it? Or, for people like you and me, always."
Elizabeth shared a smile with the shopkeeper and, hearing her father call her name, rushed to hand the doll back before joining Weatherby at his side to settle on which books she would like to add to library.
Weatherby paid for a stack of books, an ornate hair comb set, and a new music book for the pianoforte, none the wiser of Genevieve slipping the pirate doll into the giftbag which held the hair combs.
"I'll take that one," Elizabeth interrupted when the footman made to carry the bag. "The set of combs is so lovely I'm sure to brush my hair all night! Thank you, father," she spoke through a smile, playing every bit the obedient young girl Weatherby believed he had for a daughter instead of the girl who yearned for adventure.
.
Elizabeth rose with a start from the same recurring dream she always had the day before Christmas—this one, her eighteenth Christmas. She was on a ship listening to fiddle players with a cheerful feeling in her heart and permanent smile on her mouth. She always saw a man's form steps away, his right hand held out, holding a spinning compass. Although Elizabeth thought each time she should warn the man first, let him know she is there, she rushes to him without a word instead and places a hand upon his shoulder. The man starts, the compass falling from his hand to the ship deck, the force of the impact louder than it ought to be, jarring Elizabeth from sleep and into reality.
However, this time she didn't even dream far enough to touch the man's shoulder, stirred from sleep a moment before by a rapping on the door to her bedchamber.
"Miss Swann. Miss Swann."
Elizabeth heaved a sigh, unsettled, wondering why this time she felt less a feeling of curiosity and more so a sense of desperation. She supposed that came with growing older, the unknown morphing into a matter of distress instead of a matter of wonder. She pushed the thoughts away as she rushed to draw a robe over her nightgown and answered the door wordlessly, knowing the news couldn't be good in nature.
"Apologies to wake you at such an hour, Miss Swann. Usually we would speak to the man of the house in times such as these, however," Weatherby's doctor paused, and Elizabeth knew in an instant. "Your father is gone."
Elizabeth sharply nodded before speaking. "I'll see him one last time, please."
She followed the doctor, her voice clipped as she answered him in brief replies, keeping her exterior calm although she felt every bit insulted. The doctor acted as if Elizbeth would turn hysterical, throw herself before him and weep and cry out for her dead father and curse the air for not taking a husband sooner. Commodore James Norrington would stop by to pay his respects once hearing word, no doubt, and frame his comfort as yet another proposal. After all, if arranged to marry James as soon as possible, Elizabeth was certain to keep her status and affluence. However, she wouldn't dwell on that now. She would see her father and make peace with what she knew was coming for the better half of a year before welcoming in the dark realities and confinements of the world.
Weatherby passed mere days after the anniversary of her mother's death, a day before Christmas. Seeing her father, lifeless in his bed, recognizable yet all wrong to her, Elizabeth made peace with the truth.
Once returned to her room, Elizabeth and swallowed down tears, knowing an audience of housekeepers must linger in the halls just outside. She clasped a hand over her mouth and breathed deep, deflecting grief in favor of a day-old memory instead.
"In the cabinet. On the right," her father instructed, his voice low and strained interrupted Elizabeth's soft hum of a melody as she placed a damp cloth at his forehead.
Elizabeth hastened from his bedside towards the cabinet, opening it. She felt tearful at the sight, reaching in instantly. She held the doll her father confiscated from her youth close to her chest and, as she did so, remembered an instant how she screamed that she hated him when he took it away.
"A pirate? Elizabeth, where did you get such a thing? Who would create such a dreadful toy for children? Take it away," he instructed her nanny.
Elizabeth drew the doll away from her breast then turned to face her father.
"You will have to make your own decisions soon, Elizabeth."
"It's only a doll, father," she said, although her voice nearly broke around the words as she sat beside him once more. He looked so gaunt and weathered, so unlike he usually did that time of year, merry and dressed in his finest.
"'Only a doll.' Maybe so. And your fairytale books I insisted you outgrow much too early on only books. And the wonderment of simply being a child replaced with being the child of a governor only your childhood."
"Don't shame yourself so," Elizabeth hushed Weatherby, taking his hand in hers. "You gave me a fine life."
"I gave you mine," Weatherby countered paired with a bittersweet smile. "Your mother, she was," he trailed off, "she was better to you. Had she lived, she would have insisted you lead your own life—Let you study seas away, give you as much freedom as she could."
"You only wanted to protect me."
"And still do." Weatherby cleared his throat and tightened his grip on Elizabeth's hand. "Please reconsider Commodore Norrington's proposal. Please," he repeated when her face grew cold. "What I leave for you will one day run out. I can't leave this world without knowing you will have someone to protect you. Norrington is a good man. Promise me you will let yourself, your future, be protected by a good man."
Elizabeth met Weatherby's eyes, the phrasing sparking a light inside of her. Her father only mentioned a good man. He did not mention James by name at all. Realizing this, she was able to nod in reply.
"I promise, father."
Elizabeth blinked away tears as well as the memory from the day before and returned to her bed. She eyed the doll on her bedside, staring at it for a moment then held it, inspecting the faceless muslin. She felt tears spring to her eyes against her will once more, knowing now that her father passed that she didn't have one face left in the world she fully trusted. She wondered if she would have to look into the face of a man she didn't love, Norrington's face, for the rest of her days to ensure structure, ensure a livelihood.
Elizabeth finally broke at the thought, and she allowed her tears to fall, two long crocodile tears as her mother would call them, each falling onto the muslin of the faceless doll in her hands. She burrowed under the comforter, laying on her side and clinging the doll to her chest, unable to contain the urge to weep any longer.
The world made her feel small on many an occasion, and she usually fought it. In the present moment, however, she came to believe her perceived smallness.
.
Elizabeth nestled deeper into the warmth of her bed, sighing from contentment. She had the most wonderful dream of dancing on cream waves. She wasn't sure why they were cream colored or how one could dance upon water but the escapism into the impossible was more fulfilling and comforting than her reality, so she indulged herself in it, calling upon the memory of the dream even as she floated into consciousness.
When Elizabeth blinked opened her eyes to a set of brown ones, her hand rose to her chest and she screamed and scrambled away from a man who, interrupted from playing a curious hand through her hair, screamed right back.
"Why are you shouting?" he insisted to know, his kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed, although he was shouting himself.
"Why are you shouting?" Elizabeth echoed.
Elizabeth took in the man's tousled hair and worn clothing as she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling much too revealed in her nightgown and unpinned hair. She swept hair from her eyes, toying at the ends, disliking the welcoming familiarity it might convey to the stranger.
"After all, you're the intruder. I'll call someone at once. I'll scream again, louder, to warn them here. I'll—I'll—" Elizabeth's trail of thought stalled to a halt at once when recognizing the cream silk on which they stood. She turned, her bedside table appearing larger than a building, appearing as if she would have to leap to it instead of simply reach her hand over to it. She patted at her form, wildly turning before crouching down into herself, covering her head. "I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming."
"Although a noble try and tried and true favorite of mine, afraid closing your eyes and just pretending it is all a bad dream won't go on too well for you this time, Miss." The man crouched down to Elizabeth's level and hooked a finger underneath her chin, tipping it up.
Yes, he was behaving entirely too familiar with her, Elizabeth thought.
"You let the world make you feel small and so it is."
Elizabeth swatted away the stranger's hand and glared but she softened when she truly studied his appearance. She recognized a frock coat she once longed to wear, twisted hair glimmering with trinkets as eccentric as his personality, and a worn tricorn hat upon his head. Perhaps his familiarity wasn't completely unwarranted.
"It ought to have a face," she told the shopkeeper long ago.
The stranger balked at Elizabeth stepping forward to instantly frame his face with her hands, so close that her chest was leaned into his, her finger tracing the slope of his nose followed by her thumbs smoothing along his mustache. His dark eyes watched her carefully, allowing her touch for a moment until he came to, clearing his throat and shooing her away.
"Oi! Stop that. I know I'm quite appealing to the female creature, but now that I can talk, I must let you know how rude it is to touch without asking, Lizzie."
His comment confirmed it for Elizabeth. The man who stood before her was the pirate doll from her childhood, now animated and actualized and human, truly human. It was impossible yet wonderful.
"I'm sorry, it's just—Your face!" Elizabeth laughed, lowering her hands to her side, a winsome smile pulling at her lips.
The pirate frowned and straightened his shirtfront. "Again, rude."
"No." Elizabeth laughed once more. "What I mean to say is, I imagined a rather good one."
"You think so?" he asked, offering a wide, gold-plated grin as he palmed at his chin. He pulled Elizabeth in close by the waist a moment later. "You have a rather good face as well, Dearie. Awful lot of wonderful things you can do with them. Faces."
Elizabeth blinked at the pirate for a moment. That word. "Dearie." No doubt stitched into his being by the shopkeeper. She shook her head to try to clear it from further believing this all was real but the action was unhelpful. Elizabeth snaked her way out of the grasp, earning a disappointed frown from its owner.
"What are you called?"
The pirate opened his mouth to speak only to shut it abruptly. He took off his tricorn hat and ruffled a hand through his hair. "My name? You never gave me one."
Elizabeth eyed on the man's arm the bottom of a tattoo peeking out from his shirtsleeve. She stepped forward and rolled up the shirtsleeve, ignoring her pirate's protests about her being so "grabby" to find a bird printed on his skin—a sparrow.
"Captain Sparrow," she said, as if speaking a forgotten name. "And your first?"
He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Jack."
"What made you choose that?"
"First thing I thought of," Jack said with a shrug before turning, leaving her.
"Where are you off to?"
"To get my ship. A pirate can't be a pirate, let alone a Captain without a ship," he told her, speaking as if she should know better. "I was eyeing one in that shop window for what felt like ages before Genny gave me to you."
"Jack, you were stowed away for years. That ship could very be well gone."
"Oh, do stop being so cheerful, will you?" Jack muttered sarcastically. "It very well could be gone, Missy, or very well could be not gone. Let's hope for the latter." Jack stopped before the edge of the mattress, his arms flailing some as he regained his balance. "Could rather use a ladder," he muttered the play on words before straightening his frock coat and turning to face Elizabeth. "Wait, if you don't know if the ship is still there, that means," Jack trailed off then frowned. "You stopped going to the shop."
Elizabeth's mouth working around an explanation at the accusatory tone but finally landed on a simple explanation. "I grew up."
"And lost all sense of optimism in doing so as well, I see."
"I'll have you know my father died last night."
Jack's eyes to grew distant, recalling the night before. "Yes. You heard the news right before you gave me a life of my own. I remember now." He cleared his throat to fill the silence. "Lizzie," he murmured, a somberness coloring his voice which felt all wrong to Elizabeth, hearing her pirate speak in such a way.
"I'd rather not go on about it—"
"Elizabeth?"
She started at the sound of Norrington's voice.
"Hide," she whispered, crawling underneath a pillow. When she noticed Jack didn't follow her lead, she yanked him down, willing him to crawl in close beside her.
"What are we to be afraid of?"
"A member of the Royal Navy."
Jack waived Elizabeth off. "I'm to hide from a ninny with one of those ruffle-y thingies around his neck?"
"Jabot."
"Ruffle-y thingy," Jack insisted, making to step out from hiding until Elizabeth pulled him back into her side.
"Miss Swann, you have a visitor," one of the maids prompted through the door.
"Elizabeth, I know this isn't easy news, it never is, but know I'm here. To give advice." There was another rap on the door, Norrington's strong and sure knock. "To listen," he added, and she pulled a face, recognizing the statement as an afterthought. "Elizabeth?"
The door creaked open and Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath, prompting Jack to shush her, a finger at her lips which she swatted away. Elizabeth listened intently to the footsteps—the maid's short treads followed by Norrington's long strides.
"Perhaps she went out to the garden."
Another set of footsteps came in, followed by Norrington's cadenced walk on the way out, probably the younger maid escorting him, Elizabeth assumed, which meant—
The comforter and sheets rose as one of the maids shook out wrinkles. Elizabeth cried out when Jack took her by the hand to tug her with him onto the headboard before they could be spotted or worse, repetitively tossed and turned by the turning over of the bed.
He offered her a hand down to the lower rung of the headboard and once the pair neared the lowest rung, Jack leapt onto the floor. He looked up at Elizabeth expectantly.
"Well, are you coming or not, Lizzie?"
"I don't know if I can!" she called down to him, clinging to a beam.
"You have to—or are you waiting to be swept up and tossed in the bin?"
Elizabeth held her breath and propelled herself off of the ledge. Jack steadied her in his arms then rushed them to the door that was just barely left open.
"The quickest way to the garden?" Jack prompted. "Lizzie?"
"Why?"
"Your Norrington will be there looking for you."
"He's not mine," Elizabeth huffed, "and why must we chase after James?"
"We can catch his carriage into town and I can get off at the shop to get my ship back." Jack stopped at the end of the hall, his eyes lighting up at the broom perched next to the bannister. He took Elizabeth's hand and, before the broom, instructed her, "Take hold."
"What?"
"Hold onto me, Swann. Trust me."
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around Jack's middle, letting out a shocked sound when he heaved her onto his back then started a steady climb. Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder then instantly turned, shutting her eyes tightly. She was never one for heights, but she ought not show it.
"Here we are. Just fine. Now, let go of me and jump."
"What?" she asked, incredulous. The distance was much too far, too much of a risk.
"You have got to start listening."
"No, I heard you, I just don't think I can—"
"Lizzie!"
Elizabeth grappled around Jack, the breath stolen from her as she held onto the handle for dear life, her eyes boring into Jack's. He offered her an encouraging half-smile then heaved himself to the banister. At seeing Jack make it out alive, Elizabeth amazed herself by doing the same.
"That's it! Now we just slowly—"
Jack yelped when Elizabeth lost her balance, falling forward, her legs on either side of him. She wrapped her arms around his middle as Jack held onto his hat with one hand and flailed around the other, only dropping both to stop them at the bottom of the railing.
"Terrifying."
"Agreed," Elizabeth whispered, breathless yet thrilled, her hair a mess and smile wide.
"Not the fall, almost getting a good knock to the family jewels," Jack muttered then pried Elizabeth's hands from his middle and set off down a beam. Elizabeth followed his lead, although opting for another. "Can always crawl down on this one, love, don't be shy," Jack called out, a teasing quality in his voice that let Elizabeth know the comment was all in good, not ill-intent. "I'm no stranger to lace and pretty things, you know."
Elizabeth flushed, wishing she weren't in her nightgown, but regained her composure and narrowed her eyes after a moment. "I'll have to loan you some to wear sometime."
Jack honestly laughed. "I respect a woman who can take a joke."
"You should respect all women."
"Touché."
Jack offered his hand to Elizbeth at the ground floor which she declined, landing on her own this time.
"What if we missed James?"
"Don't look so woebegone, fair Lizzie," Jack said, a performative kind of dignified nature in his voice and a hand at his chest, sounding every bit like how she might have orchestrated him to speak as a child when he was nothing more than a lifeless plaything. "Even without what'shisface, we can always find another way—"
Elizabeth shushed Jack, pointing at Norrington nearing the foyer, his hat at his chest and wearing a sullen look.
"Well-crafted sharp and stabby," Jack observed the sword in Norrington's hands as he and Elizabeth waited behind the coat hanger at the door.
"A promised parting gift from my father, I'm sure. He hoped James would come and ask for my hand."
"Your hand?"
"In marriage."
"I know the expression, Lizzie." Jack shook his head at her then raised his eyebrows. "It's the thought of you ending up with a man like Norrington that's difficult to wrap my brain around."
A guard opened the door for Norrington, and Jack and Elizabeth rushed to follow. The pair's eyes met, sharing a gaze—an idea—then they made their respective ways up Norrington's shoes to hold onto an ankle each. The garden wasn't far off so the wait wasn't bad but with such nerve-racking transportation, risking death should her grip falter, it didn't feel close enough.
When Norrington sat on a stone bench, Jack motioned to Elizabeth, pointing up at the vines weaving up it. Elizabeth nodded wordlessly and climbed alongside Jack.
Norrington cleared his throat and clasped his hands together, ultimately giving up on finding Elizabeth that day but clearly not the prospect of proposing. "Miss Swann, I know now may not seem the best time, but there is actually no better time to, after all of these years, voice how much I care for your well-being, for you."
"If he'd lose the wig, he might have a chance, aye? Such pretty words and all that."
Elizabeth worked her way up the vine faster. "I don't care for words without true meaning."
"I'm not sure there is a man who walks this earth who would be worthy to have your hand," Norrington continued just as the new vine Elizabeth reached for snapped and she faltered until Jack pulled her into his side. "Nonetheless, I pray you keep an open mind as I would find it an honor for you to take my name and, in turn, I will take your burdens."
Elizabeth watched Jack intently as he worked them both up the side of the bench, looking determined, as if he knew he could conquer anything simply because he willed it so.
"Take your pain."
Her hold on Jack tightened and she pressed in closer to him, closing her eyes and releasing herself into letting him carry her.
"And take you, all of you, as you are, should you take me. Your father was a good man. I could only hope to be half the man he was but, with your help, I'm sure you will only bring out the best of me."
Norrington stood just as Jack and Elizabeth clambered up the bench and rushed to Norrington's hat, heaving it up and hiding under it.
"Elizabeth, will you marry me?"
Elizabeth listened to the sound of her and Jack's breathing, enveloped in complete darkness and close one again, like the moment she studied his face. She felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach when she felt Jack's hands take hers and his mouth at her ear.
"You may have grown up, but you don't have to give up, Swann. You can still choose adventuring, you know that, right Darling?"
"Promise me you will let yourself, your future, be protected by a good man," her father had told her before passing on.
"I know now."
Elizabeth clung to Jack as they were swept up into the hat and pressed in close to Norrington's chest as he relented on finding her, returning to his carriage. Once they were placed safely on the seat beside him, Jack and Elizabeth slid down the floor across from each other, Jack removing his own hat and shaking his hair free before sitting cross-legged as Elizabeth sat with her legs to the side, smoothing out the wrinkles in her nightgown.
"If you were taller," Jack started, offering a warm smile, "think you'd take him up on it, Lizzie?"
Elizabeth looked thoughtful for a moment but ultimately shook her head. "No. James is a good man, but there are all sorts of good men. I want to share a life with someone who feels right for me, feels real."
"I'm not real, and we get on well," Jack countered.
"The shopkeeper said you might have a real counterpart, however," Elizabeth said, calling upon the memory from so many years ago. "But I imagine he wouldn't be so playful, a true pirate."
"Am I not a true pirate?"
"That's not what I," Elizabeth trailed off then took Jack's hand in her own. "I'm speaking like James or my father. I shouldn't make presumptions about the man you might be. I'm sorry."
"No need. I know you mean well. Whereas men like Norrington think all pirates are 'waste of a men,' nothing more than an aggregation of drunkards and thieves simply because we choose to not live like him."
Elizabeth imagined Jack clean shaven, his hair untangled and pulled back—one of the Royal Navy fleet. She shook the thought from her mind, preferring his current look. If he truly did have a living, breathing counterpart, Elizabeth was sure he crafted his appearance carefully, an outwardly resistance to the confines of society—a statement that he spat upon their rules, their ways of life and crafted his own instead.
Jack fished around in his pocket then pulled out a compass. "You have to make this life on your own, or you're letting them do it for you." He leaned forward, placing the compass into Elizabeth's hands. "What do you want most in this world?"
"Adventure," she offered, then corrected, "Freedom." Elizabeth took a breath, weighing if she wanted to lay her truest of thoughts bare, but Jack's eyes were warm and welcoming enough to fish the rest out of her. "For the world to make me feel less"—Elizabeth leaned her head back to look at the dark ceiling of the carriage that seemed to shut a world of possibilities—"small."
"Do you trust that I can help you will all of your ambitions?"
"Yes."
"Well then, all that you said we will make so. It's sure to happen, you being the dreamer and all—but first, what I want most in this world is to get my ship back," Jack said in a rush, taking the compass back into his hands. He flipped open the compass and watched the arrow. "Now, we wait." Jack set the compass aside then laid back, nestled his head into his arms, and kicked his feet up against the side of the carriage. He toyed at his beard with one hand, drumming the other to the rhythm of a tune he was humming.
"Do you remember?" Elizabeth asked, resting her chin in the palm of her hand while watching Jack.
"What, Lizzie?"
"Our adventures," she answered, not caring if the question was childish or not.
"You mean before your father stole me away from you? Of course!" Jack smiled at Elizabeth, trying to get a better look at her only to give up and turn onto his stomach instead. "You were quite the dreamer then too. I remember it all—reclaiming my ship from a crew who turned into skeletons under the moon, finding the enchantress who could give us the power to make everything turn to gold, of course, only to lose that very power only an hour later, killing a sea monster that just so happened to go by the same name as your cousin who teased you whenever you and your father would visit London, discovering that mermaids are, in fact, real, and endlessly searching any and everywhere for—"
"An elixir to bring mother back," Elizabeth spoke in time with Jack, noticing him advert his eyes before clearing his throat and sitting tall again. "You remember it all although you never had a brain."
"Not sure I have one now even," Jack said to make her laugh, and she did. "But of course I remember, Swann. I was there, wasn't I?"
Elizabeth tore her eyes away from Jack's, so wide and honest. Although the man materialized in front of her was the childhood plaything from her past, she couldn't help but wonder if he truly had a counterpart and, if so, if he had gone on all of the very adventures she dreamt up and if he, perhaps, lost a mother too.
The pointer to the compass turned and, once realizing so, Jack leapt to his feet. He tucked the compass back into his pocket then managed to climb his way up to the handle to the door of the carriage, heaving the handle down enough to open the door for Elizabeth to safely exit, and Jack followed soon after with a less than graceful landing on the cobblestone when Norrington snapped the carriage door shut, muttering about the wind.
The two hastened as close to the shopfronts as they could to avoid the rushed shuffle of feet that could take life from them.
"There. There she is." Jack stilled in his tracks, removing his hat from his head and placing his hat to his chest.
Elizabeth looked upon the pirate ship in the window, still there after all these years, crafted out of wood with red and white striped sails, every bit a children's toy, yet Jack looked upon it like the answer to life itself was held in those sails.
Jack and Elizabeth stood with their backs against the wall of the store front until a customer when in, then slipped inside before the door closed.
They crept as quietly as they could then scaled their way up to the window. Once standing before the ship, Jack inspected it as a pensive expression took over his features.
"I'm filled with… foundariousness."
"With what?"
"Foundariousness." Jack repeated. "The magnificent feeling when you find something of yours you once thought was lost."
"That's not a word."
"Someone has to make them up," he simply replied, shrugging.
Elizabeth furrowed her brow at Jack then smiled in astonishment at this man who may or may not be real who truly lived by his rules and his rules alone, no credence paid to the way of life most men followed.
"I only wish I could be as sure of myself as you."
"You were once, Lizzie," Jack reminded, and he continued to speak as he walked alongside her to the ship's helm, "and you can return to that self, that sure self, that once believed in a crew of pirates who turned into skeletons under the moon, turning anything to gold by touch with the help of an enchantress, sea monsters, and so many more impossible possibilities."
Jack placed his hat upon Elizabeth's head then bowed to her, the wobble to him making the gesture that much more endearing to her.
"Captain Swann," Jack addressed her with a light in his eyes, "it's your call, your life, your wish. What do you wish? Or rather, as this ship's new Captain, command."
"I command that," Elizabeth paused, taking a breath to think on the most outlandish thought, "that this ship would fly," she answered, raising her eyebrows challengingly and unwaveringly.
Her mouth fell open when the ship, now limned in white, rose into the air.
The corners of Jack's mouth turned up as he placed Elizabeth's hands on the wheel of the ship, guiding her steering until she got the hang of it. He lifted his hands from hers with a quiet comment of, "There's that ambitious mind."
"But Jack,"—Elizabeth's heart raced in her chest and she couldn't breathe in air fast enough, it seemed, as she steered the ship out of sight from anyone else in the store—"don't you ever think of the possible repercussions—?"
"No," Jack cut her off, pointedly stepping around Elizabeth, facing her in front of the helm, "which is why matters often work out for me."
Jack lifted up her chin, seemingly finding an enjoyment in nearly distracting her. Elizabeth wanted to hiss at him that he could get them both killed, that he was being ridiculous, impossible, but a deep breath reminded her to release herself from overthinking. If she could release herself from that burden here, floating in a dream, perhaps she could release herself from it in her waking life.
"Now, remember to dismiss all possible repercussions when you wake, and,"—Jack leaned forward to whisper into Elizabeth's ear—"find me on the other side, Darling."
.
Elizabeth woke with a start, sitting tall just after consciousness washed over her in a rush. She felt at her form in haste, properly sized, filling her bed well instead of drowning in its largeness. She sighed with relief then looked to her nightstand, the doll from her childhood memories gone. A familiar sense of panic rushed through her blood, chilling her. She would rather have seen it, as seeing the doll would be easy to convince herself it was all a dream, but no, Jack told her to find him. She smoothed hair from her face and, after a deep breath, heaved herself to her closet.
Elizabeth toed on the first shoes she spotted and slipped a coat over her nightgown that she messily tied at her waist. She opened her nightstand, finding the funeral arrangements she penned a month or so ago when matters regarding her father seemed bleak and pressed a brief kiss to the envelope. She placed the envelop back into the opened drawer to be discovered and hopefully implemented in her absence. No matter, her father was already at peace now, she thought. She reminded herself that funerals for the living, not the dead. Her father was sure to have a fine one as all money he left behind would now no longer find a home with her. No, she had an even richer future awaiting, not in gold, but in adventure.
Elizabeth stepped as quickly as she could down the hall and the flight of stairs, ignoring all calls of her name following her on her way to the front door.
There was a carriage already drawn, set to take her to discuss the funeral arrangements. Instead, Elizabeth unhooked a horse from the team, soothing it and mounting it as quickly as manageable, ignoring the calls of the coachman when he noticed her already far off, riding into town.
Elizabeth rode to the harbor then tied the horse to a post to search every ship in sight. After looking about, distressed, dismissing anyone who asked if she was lost or needed help, she nearly left. She felt dejected and foolish until she noticed a man on a dingy at the very end of the harbor, assessing the winds, a compass in his right hand. Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat when she noticed the spinning compass stopped, pointing in her direction. She raced forward, a melody of strings entirely imagined and the vessel less grand than in her reoccurring dream, but it didn't matter as she was sure of the man who nearly evaded her.
Elizabeth stepped onto the boat and, with a shaking hand, touched the man's shoulder. She nearly laughed, disbelieving, when the compass fell from his hand as always, but she caught it, steadying his hands with her own. The man certainly shared a likeness with the pirate from her dreams and the doll of a Captain based off of him, unbeknownst to him, Elizabeth was sure. The salty sea breeze calmed and grounded her into the reality, engaging her senses. The look of realization on her pirate's face was another telling sign she wasn't dreaming. What a face, she thought.
"Well, call me a monkey's uncle," the man murmured, his brow furrowing. "Lizzie? It is 'Lizzie,' isn't it? Or have I fully lost it?"
She shook her head at the last question then, at his apparent disappointment, corrected herself, nodding in answer to the first two questions. "Elizabeth Swann," she introduced, her voice breaking with emotion. "And Captain Jack Sparrow, is it?"
Jack's mouth dropped open and he looked about as if searching to corroborate with another person the wonderful impossible possibility of reuniting with someone one never even met.
"I thought I dreamt you up," Jack said, clearly questioning himself still as he took off his hat and shook a hand through his tousled locks.
"I would love to hear all about it, your dream, as I seem to have dreamt a similar one." Elizabeth took Jack's hands into her own, drawing them to her face. To further test him, further ensure this wasn't a ruse from the universe, she stepped in close then whispered, "I'm filled with foundariousness."
Jack's mouth dropped open once again then his nose wrinkled with an inconcealable smile and Elizabeth decided she never saw a proper smile until that moment.
"The magnificent feeling when you find something of yours you once thought was lost."
Elizabeth felt her chest tighten at that word. "Yours." She never thought she would like the idea of someone belonging to her, or herself belonging to another. However, when diving into a life of leaving behind high society and all of its constraints and useless acquired assets, well, she found the man before her who taught her to believe in herself again through a shared dream to be the only treasure which deserved such a label—hers.
Jack ran his finger down the slope of Elizabeth's nose, gently traced over her eyelids, then brushed his thumb over her lower lip.
"I could still be dreaming, I suppose," Jack muttered, his expression softening once more when he studied Elizabeth's face further, meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just—Your face," he said, voice low and soft, brushing her windswept hair aside for a better look. "I imagined a rather good one."
"You think so?" A smile pulled at Elizabeth's lips. "Awful lot of wonderful things you can do with them. Faces," she said, her eyes falling to Jack's mouth.
She would offer one last test, to be absolutely certain, she thought.
"I have to know, Mister Sparrow—did you once brave a skeleton crew to reclaim your ship? Or once have the power to turn anything to gold? Or kill a sea monster?"
"Always did hate that sea monster. Jonah, was it?"
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around Jack's neck and pressed up against him, meeting his mouth with her own. Jack's hands found her waist, drawing Elizabeth in closer and she relented, angling her head back, letting him pull gently at her hair. She sighed against his mouth, feeling an irrepressible desire ignite inside of her, stir, then travel all over. Elizabeth exhaled sharply, pulling away to commit that feeling to memory, cradle its true weight. Jack's eyes seemed to mirror her thoughts and Elizabeth smiled into a chaste kiss then took a step back.
She took Jack's hands into her own to open the compass and smooth her index finger on the face of the compass. She smiled contentedly when the arrow pointed not only to Jack but rested just before his heart. Elizabeth knew she could make her own choices again, now, to get to know the very man who reminded her how to, she thought.
"I can't believe it's you. You had a life of your own all along, and here I was all these years, thinking you were only a doll."
Jack frowned. "A doll? I know I'm quite appealing to the female creature, but there are names a man would rather be called, Lizzie."
She laughed and framed his face. "I have much to tell you."
"And I clearly much to listen to."
Elizabeth smiled. It wouldn't be too different from her childhood, she realized. Her pirate was always quite the good listener although, this pirate, more handsome.
"You first," Elizabeth insisted. "We've clearly had very different dreams."
"Yet they led us to the same place. Funny how that works out."
"Funny," she agreed.
Elizabeth had the sudden thought that she hoped the toy ship in the shop window was finally sold to a little girl who, despite a world that willed her not to, allowed herself to dream—and because she wished it, so it was.