Disclaimer: All Characters © Disney.

Author's Note: I realize that this chapter is a lot shorter than my other ones, but I realized that if I kept going, it would get a bit redundant. There's a lot more action in this chapter than the others (I know, right? How can that be possible?), and there's a few more subplots added in. So, I hope I won't confuse you all too much. Enjoy!

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Devil's Riddle

Chapter Three: What have I done?

By: MJ

It had been a long, exhausting night for Miss Elizabeth Swann. She had remained awake the entire course of the night, wiping the sweat off of Will's forehead, giving him water (which he never kept down), cleaning up after his… messes… but most important of them all, she made sure he made it through the night.

It was early the next morning, and she was seated in a large chair next to Will's bedside, lightly caressing his prominent cheek and jaw bones with her finger tips, her hazel eyes glazed over in a dreamlike stare. She smiled faintly before she leaned down and kissed his forehead. His brows furrowed, and he thrashed slightly at the sudden touch. She sighed; wondering what he could possibly be thinking of that had him in such a state…

The smoke was around him again; suffocating him as he sat there, staring around in a dazed manner towards his surroundings. The smoke was slowly clearing again, and he could see directly below him.

He was on that bloody platform again, except this time, he was facing away from Hades and that bloody alter. Confused, the young blacksmith-turned-pirate's eyes widened as a figure was slowly descending the stairs.

Captain Jack Sparrow, in the flesh, was walking down the stairs.

"JACK!" He shouted, smiling. "JACK—YOU'RE ALIVE!"

The pirate didn't turn to face him. Will tried to move, and found that he couldn't. It was as if he was trapped where he was… Trapped in this insane, little world. "JACK! JACK!"

He heard himself calling the man's name over and over, yet no one could hear him, it seemed. Finally, Jack was at the bottom, and someone was rushing towards him. Blonde curls flying everywhere, the person nearly attacked Jack as Will Turner watched his fiancée give Jack the largest hug he had ever witnessed. She had cradled her head in his neck already; and her shoulders were shaking. Although they were so far away, it was as if their voices were magnified a thousand times as their words rushed into his ears.

"Jack… Jack, I thought I'd never see you again."

"Aye, luv—but 'ere I be!" He chuckled, awkwardly patting her on the back. "Wot—not going to give me as pleasant a welcome as ye gave me a goodbye?"

She was quiet, and it was killing Will inside. Does she see him watching her?

"Elizabeth—don't… don't waste your time on me… Go with him… You love him…" Will murmered, watching hopelessly.

"I'll miss him…"

"Miss who, luv?" Jack questioned, lifting her head off of his shoulder. Will could finally see the tears streaming down her face.

She was pointing vaguely up the staircase. It was then that Will noticed the blood on his hands.

"Dear, sweet Jesus!" Will exclaimed, looking at his hands in horror. A knife was right beside him, and his heart stopped. "Who did I kill? What…"

"WHAT HAVE I DONE!"

Elizabeth sighed; it had been a record hour and a half before Will's reoccurring dream came back to him. She started to brush the hair out of his face, gently rubbing his shoulders. "Will—Will, it's all right…"

"Oh… Oh my god… Please, no... I never wanted to kill you..."

And he fell back into a silent sleep. Elizabeth sighed, kissing his forehead one more time before she returned to her seat. She placed her head in her hands and sighed. A hand fell onto her shoulder and she jumped.

"Go sleep—I'll watch de lad…" She nodded numbly at Tia Dalma before she realized what was being said.

"I… I can't leave him now—not when he's like this… He seems to think he's done something wrong… Like's he's killed someone." Tia smiled, but remained silent. Finally, she said quietly:

"Jus' go."

Elizabeth hesitated, but allowed herself to pull away from her ailing beloved. She kissed his forehead one more time and walked from the room. She crossed the deck, and went below into the crews' quarters. There was a screened-off section of the quarters were she and Ana Maria took residence. She went behind the screen and collapsed into her hammock, where she cried herself into a light, troubled sleep.

Elizabeth spent her nights with Will, listening painfully to his conversations with another person; she listened to him rant and rave that he was dead, that she needed to move on, that she loved Jack, and that she didn't need to try and make him happy anymore. When that wasn't the nightmare he was suffering from, she had to endure his shouts of protests, that he hadn't really meant to kill them, and how sorry he was to her. It broke her heart, and she spent many of those nights silently sobbing as she cared for him. She spent her days confined in the crews' quarters, sleeping, or—if she felt up to it—doing work with the crew. All the while, her mind and heart was troubled, and the prophecy rang in her ears…

The answers will come to you in your dreams…

Does that mean that what Will was seeing was the future? Was he seeing how he had to get Jack back… or… or perhaps, he was seeing false things. Didn't Melusine tell him that Not everything is always the way it seems? She was pondering these things in her hammock, trying desperately to fall asleep, when she heard Ana Maria's call (it was her turn to watch Will while Elizabeth slept).

"Elizabeth! He's awake!"

Immediately gaining a boost of adrenaline-induced energy, Elizabeth nearly fell out of her hammock in her attempt to stand up and run towards the door. She righted herself, and slid out a bit more daintily. After successfully out of the hammock, she sprinted around the other sleeping crewmembers of the night watch, and was out the door in a moment. Luckily for Ana Maria, the Spanish lass had more sense than to stand in the way of Elizabeth and Will.

She ran across the deck, the crewmembers at work parting like the Red Sea for her as she made her way towards the Captain's cabin. She was grinning like a fool, her cheeks flushed from the sudden rush of excitement and adrenaline bursting through her. She opened the door and was in there as quick as she could, and paused, as she got right inside the door.

Tia Dalma was sitting in the chair Elizabeth occupied during Will's delirious, nightmare-bound nights, and she and Will (fully conscious and sitting up) were conversing in low voices. Elizabeth gave them but a moment's more privacy as she turned to shut the door with a gentle click. The sound brought both back to the present world, and Tia smiled at Elizabeth, turning her head to look from Will to Elizabeth, and finally back to Will.

"I'll leave da love-ahs to chat, aye?" She asked, and Elizabeth nodded politely while Will took this as an opportunity to lie back down. The mystic reached out and squeezed Elizabeth's shoulder when they passed, and the courtesy was not lost on the younger woman. She sat down in the chair next to Will's bedside, and reached out tentatively before she clasped his hand in hers.

He was closing his eyes and turning on his shoulder, his scarred, bare back to her. This new motion caused the light hold of his hand in hers to break, and she gasped lightly, before she placed the now-free hand on his shoulder. "Don't think you are going to avoid me by sleeping, William Turner. This isn't the island, where you can merely walk away from me."

"I didn't walk away from you at the island, Miss Swann. You walked away from me. I have nothing to hide, you seem--"

"Don't accuse me of things you don't understand, Will," she whispered harshly, retracting her hand from its place on his shoulder. He sighed, and turned to look at her. His eyes scared her; for the first time since she had met William Turner, they were completely void of emotion.

"I understand a lot more than you give me credit for," he said back, in a voice that almost seemed… sad, sympathetic, maybe? She sighed, and looked down at her hands, folded together, and resting in her lap. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying again.

"Will… We need to talk."

"We're already talking, Miss Swann." She flinched at her proper name again.

"…I need to talk. You need to listen."

"I don't know if I can do that, Miss Swann, seems as though I need to talk to you, too."

"…Why… why don't you love me anymore?" She asked quietly, finally daring to look at him, her eyes searching his for some answer she knew she wouldn't find. Then, a flicker of emotion appeared in his eyes.

"I will never stop loving you, Miss Swann," he said firmly, determination and passion clearly in his stare. "Don't doubt it for a moment…"

"Then why--"

She was jerked forward as the ship lurched. A wave of water hit against the starboard side of the ship, causing it to rock in its position. Elizabeth landed next to Will's bed on the floor, and he had to quickly grab onto the sides to keep from falling out. They heard the crew rushing about on deck, and they sent each other puzzled stares. The ship lurched again, and suddenly there was a pounding on the door. Barbossa was in the room seconds later without the decency of waiting for a reply.

"Swann, we need you on deck," he grunted, using her surname had become sort of a habit of the pirating captain. Will looked as though he was about to get up, but Barbossa shook his head. "Ye jus' got over the fever boy, ye're too weak to figh'. Swann—let's go."

Will was about to protest when Elizabeth held a firm hand on his shoulder, "If you love me—truly, and sincerely love me—you'd wait here for me to return, so that you don't get yourself killed and I am forced to grow up an old spinner." She attempted to place a soft kiss to his lips, but he resisted. She merely placed it to his forehead, and left the room in haste, wondering what idiot dared attempt to go up against the Black Pearl.

She had made it to the top of the deck to see that the crew was surrendering—to what, Elizabeth didn't know. She turned, and finally saw it—

The Flying Dutchman was right before their eyes.

Times were changing; no longer could he merely walk the streets in his naval uniform; now people stopped and stared. Some of the unintelligent fools even had the gall to point, while others knew their place and merely muttered their uncertainties of the man's position. He rolled his pale blue eyes and sighed, his lips pursed.

A bag swung from his hip, and when he paused to nod briefly at his fellow officers, it would beat rhythmically. A wicked grin spread across his face as he looked down upon it. Fools he thought about his fellow comrades on that hunt for the heart of one Davy Jones. Why would they trust someone like him? He shook his head and started up again, his hands clasped behind his back. His boots made clunks against the cobblestone streets, and his wig blew behind in the soft sea breeze that blew throughout the small town of Port Royal.

To Admiral James Norrington, ironically both a former pirate and commodore, all was right in the world.

"Sir," a faint, hoarse voice called out of the crowd of peasants he was walking past. As per normal, James ignored the voice, lifting his nose to the person and continuing along. "Sir—please, I haven't had a thing to eat in what seems like ages." The man almost seemed educated to James, but educated or not, the man was still a peasant, and therefore worthless. He kept walking, when suddenly he felt someone grab onto his left leg. He almost fell over, but caught himself. He unsheathed his sword (the one from William Turner, returned to him upon his reinstating and promotion) and pointed it at the perpetrator, before he dropped it to the ground with a clatter upon seeing who it was.

The man was dressed in finery, but as fine as it was, it was dirty, torn, and shredded in places. It was probably the only clothes the man had left, and that only furthered James's problems with the man. His eyes widened painfully at the sight of the man's balding hair, and growing facial hair. He obviously was not the man James remembered.

"Governor Swann?"

"Commodore Norrington?"

The questions were asked simultaneously, both a bit surprised to see the other in such a state. James sighed as Weatherby Swann gave him the old once-over.

"I suppose I've mistreated you… Admiral. I would only be so stupid as to only think of you as an inferior Commodore. I'm sorry for troubling you," Weatherby said quickly, obviously embarrassed by the situation.

"No need, Governor--"

"Admiral, I do not have to tell you, for you should obviously be able to see that I could never be governor of Port Royal. Once more, I'm--"

"Apologize to me again, sir, and I'll have to-to," though James didn't know what exactly what he could do for Swann. He sighed and held out a hand to the confused ex-governor. "Get up." He finally said.

"What do you--?"

"Get up."

Weatherby grabbed onto James's hand and stood, finally seeing eye to eye with Norrington, who again sighed.

"Have you heard from Elizabeth?"

This time, it was Weatherby's turn to sigh as he shook his head 'no' in a sad manner. "Not since… not since she left with that Turner boy."

"William, sir, I think by now we should both be getting used to the 'boy' being an important part of her life. Important enough that both of us could call him by his first name, sir."

"How about I call him William, if you could call me Weatherby. I am not in a position to be earning such high regards from the likes of someone like you," he said, smiling. He then frowned, "Have you heard from them?"

"No. Not yet, I'm hoping it will be soon," the rhythmic pulsing of the item in the sack attached to his belt seemed to grown more noticeable. "Why don't I buy you a warm meal?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I'd like to think that I'm not as hopeless as to be taking charity from a former friend," Weatherby said nervously, ashamed of his position.

James smiled, and clapped a hand on the older man's back, "We're still friends, I would hope that something so trivial as funds would not break something as strong as what we had had… Before, well…" He broke it off, uncomfortable by the situation even more. He cleared his throat and continued, "And if you can't take charity from friends, then whom could you take it from?" He asked, and the elder man smiled.

"Then I suppose I will make you purchase me a warm dinner, and a tall glass of ale, and you can fill in the blanks on… your situation," Weatherby smiled.

"Only if you promise to fill in the blanks on yours, then we have an agreement." Weatherby nodded, and he began to walk in step with James as they continued towards the inn-portion of the small fishing village. Staring at the shaken, old, raggedy man beside him, James could only think about Elizabeth, Will, and even that wretch Jack Sparrow. Finally, he had realized what his greed had caused—whom his thirst for power had hurt, and all he could keep thinking was:

What have I done?

She gasped involuntarily, her eyes immediately flying towards the door to the Captain's cabin, which she had just shut. She was between a rock and a hard place; should she run back in and tell Will what was finally catching up to them, which would make him get up, and harm himself (most likely), or should she let him be ignorant to what was going on outside of the walls of the captain's cabin. She sighed, and stepped away from the door. After all:

Ignorance is bliss.

She grabbed her cutlass, but immediately Ana Maria was by her side. "No, we won't be fightin', Miss Elizabeth," for some reason both of the two women had been referring to her as either 'Miss Elizabeth' or 'Miss Swann'. She sighed, and let her hand fall limp. "Where is Turner?"

"In the cabin, where he will remain. He's still to weak to do this now," she said to Ana Maria, a girl she considered her friend. They sent each other identical comforting grins, before a voice boomed over top of their conversation.

"Gentlemen—oh, and I see Jack Sparrow has still managed to get a few gentle-ladies," Davey Jones chuckled, before he took a long draw from his pipe, held up by one of his many tentacles. He blew out the cloud of smoke, savoring the suspense he was instilling in the Black Pearl's crew. "We are only here to do one thing," his eyes were scanning the crowds from his position at the helm of the Dutchman. "And that is, to rid ye of two crew members." His eyes met Elizabeth's, and he grinned. He motioned to her with his claw, and two fish-headed crewmembers climbed across the gangplank on the Pearl, and grabbed a hold of her arms. She struggled, but they easily subdued her. She looked, quite horrorstruck, at the less than supportive crewmembers on the Pearl with her. She gave them all incredulous, almost betrayed looks as they dragged her back onto the Dutchman. She was still struggling against their grip, the only thought in her mind was—Will is still over there—he needs me!

Suddenly, a hand came flying through the air, and slapped her right across the face. She cried out from the sudden shock and pain, her hazel eyes widening, before she looked up. Davy Jones was standing right in front of her. "Quiet, Mrs--"

"It's still Swann," she said sadly, and he grinned.

"Ye broke 'is heart, didn't ye?" Jones asked rhetorically, because he didn't give her time to reply before he asked, "Where is the little lover-boy?" She bit her lip, realizing that if she wanted to keep Will safe, she'd have to put on a good show.

"He's dead," she said quietly.

"Speak up, lovely, or I'll get some of my men to really make you scream," the members of the Dutchman crew had a good chortle over this. Tears began to fall as Elizabeth gnawed her cheek until it bled. The metallic taste only made her wail harder.

"He's dead, you bastard!"

"Don't think ye should be callin' me such names," Jones replied grimly. He turned to the Black Pearl crew. "Is this true? Is the son of William Turner truly dead!"

"Yes!" Came the reply from the Captain, and a somber rumble of "aye" erupted from the crew.

"Finally, then, the boy can be reunited with his father!" Jones laughed, and his crew joined in before he turned back with a menacing glare. "Get back to work—set sail for Port Royal!" He stressed the small fishing village's name, before he walked back up to Elizabeth and her respective "body guards". He smirked at the gentlemen… fish… things. "Take the young widow down to the brig, and make sure she's… comfortable."

"Aye!" They chorused, and they began to involuntarily drag Elizabeth (who was trying her hardest to never lose the Pearl from her eyesight) down below. Jones turned to his crew before he realized it was useless, and merely stalked to his quarters and slammed the door shut, all the while muttering…

"Damned Admiral Norrington… Damned Jack Sparrow…"

Normally, I'd ask you all a bunch of questions that may be realitive to the plot, but I'm not very good at coming up with any that don't give anything away. I do have two that perhaps you all should think about while I type up the next chapter:

Who does Will think he's killed?
Why would Jones say that, now that Will is 'dead', he is being reunited with his father?

...Also, I just have to know, though, were Swann and Norrington in character? Did you all like how I added that in there, or--?

Thanks, again, to those who reviewed! ♥♥