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Jack sat in his usual darkened corner in the Faithful Bride, nursing his rum and brooding. And for the first time that Anamaria could remember, Jack wasn't partying and getting as drunk as possible. He was just sitting alone at his table, staring into the depths of his tankard, lost in his own world. Anamaria seized her own mug of ale and wove her way in and out of the fighting drunks and coquettish women looking for a paying customer to warm their beds that night. She plunked herself down in front of Jack and slammed her cup onto the table for exta emphasis.

Jack had been deep in the process of pondering his problem when Anamaria's loud arrival startled him. He yelled in surprise and toppled backwards off his stool, sending his untouched rum flying everywhere.

"Jack!" shouted Anamaria, leaning over the table to look at him. "You alright?"

Jack stood up and grimaced. He was covered in spilled alcohol, and the dust from the floor had clung to the wet patches of sticky rum. He attempted to brush of the worst of the grime, but only succeeded in smearing it. "Yeah," he sighed, sitting back down. "I'm fine."

Anamaria lowered herself back onto her chair. "Sorry," she said. "Didn't mean t'give ye such a fright. What's up? Why aren't you drinking your brains out like you normally do?"

Jack sighed. For a moment, he twiddled his chunky emerald and tarnished silver ring around on his finger. Then he looked up into Anamaria's face and she got the shock of her life.

She wasn't looking at the same man. Jack no longer was the half-insane, irresponsible and carefree man she sailed under. He looked older; his face lined and hard. His eyes were haunted, the mischievous spark that had once been there had vanished. It was as if the Jack she knew was replaced by someone twenty years older and had lost everything he held dear. A Jack with a scar cut deep across his soul.

"Ana, " Jack sighed, "There are times when even th'notorious Cap'n Sparrow has his lows. Ye don't know my past, and ye don't want t'know. Just know one thing: I look for the man who did this."

Jack pulled down the left side of his shirt to reveal two charcoal black bullet scars just over his heart. Anamaria knew those scars. But there was something that didn't match up...

"Jack, " said Anamaria suspiciously, "You told us ye got those back in yer India days, 'round the same time ye got that brand on yer arm."

Jack shook his head. "No. Not in India. Not in the run-in with the East India Company. Before that. Long before that. Long before ye even knew me. Back in me younger glory days..."

Jack trailed off with a faraway look in his eyes. Anamaria had the sense not to laugh. This was serious, no matter how funny it was that Jack should think his glory days were behind him. (As far as Ana knew, Jack was living his glory days, and these weren't going to be his last.) She waited for Jack to continue, but when he didn't, she couldn't stop herself.

"Jack? What does this have to do with anything?"

Jack's mind came back to the present and the reminesence in his eyes faded. His gaze hardened when he turned his eyes to Anamaria. "Nothing. It's just somethin' I hafta do."

"But Jack - "

"No buts!" snarled Jack. Anamaria felt a twinge of fear. Never had she seen Jack looking so murderous. This was the second time in less than ten minutes that Jack acted strange. It was beginning to worry her. After many years of successful piracy, was the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow finally starting to lose his mind?

"No buts," repeated Jack in the same threatening tone."and no more questions. I don' wanna talk about it. An' you'd better be holdin' yer tongue unless ye wanna end up like Cotton." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" shouted Anamaria, though she didn't move from her seat and attempt to follow him. She knew better than to follow Jack when he was acting like this. "Where are you going?"

"To the Pearl," called Jack over his shoulder. And then he was gone, vanished into the tavern crowd.

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Elizabeth woke up snug under the covers of her four poster. She and Will had left the fort when the sun had gone down and the last vestiges of daylight were fading. He had taken her to his humble abode, situated just behind the smithy, and they had cooked dinner together, with a lot of laughing and spilled ingredients. Will was an accomplished cook from his years of batching, but Elizabeth had been raised with food ready prepared on the table when she awoke. It was quite an experience for them both: Elizabeth laughing at her own hopelessness at domestic skills while Will smilingly corrected her and marvelled at her inability to use a spatula. After eating their simple meal, Will had walked her home and then headed back to the smithy, but not before planting a short but sweet goodbye kiss on her cheek.

The perfect end to a perfect evening, thought Elizabeth. I just wish it hadn't been so cold yesterday. We could've gone for a walk on the beach.

In fact, she realized, it was still fairly chilly. Was it only early morning? She glanced at the clock. No, in fact it was almost noon. Why had her maids let her sleep in so late? Elizabeth sat up, flinging the covers back in the process.

She gasped. It wasn't chilly. It was positively icy. Despite the fact that she was inside, she could see her breath. The Caribbean never got this cold! Something was wrong; terribly, terribly wrong.

Elizabeth ran to her balcony doors and threw them open. A frigid gust of air slapped her face, as the blinding noon sun reflected off something into her eyes.

Squinting in the dazzling glare, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself and stepped out onto the balcony. Instantly, she leapt back inside with a yelp. It couldn't be...this was the Caribbean, for God's sake! There shouldn't be snow this far south!

Elizabeth looked down at the glistening balcony where her footprints were still visible. Slowly, she reached down and scooped up a handful of the icy crystals and let them melt in her hand. She wasn't dreaming. There was snow on her balcony, where no snow should be. In fact, she realized with a jolt, the entire town was covered in a blanket of the stuff. Only the fort was discernible from the rest of the houses, jutting out above them like an extra large cake in a baker's window. The sky, normally the trademark cerulean blue of the Caribbean, was overcast and grey, heavy with the promise of more snow. The sun, so bright moments ago, was now covered by the fast-moving clouds.

Elizabeth turned her gaze away from Port Royal and gasped. The sea...as far as she could see, the normally tranquil waters were white. The ocean was frozen over.

Elizabeth began to feel afraid. Whatever was happening wasn't natural. This was a tropical climate - it shouldn't get cooler than 65 degrees farenheit, much less snow. She tore her horrified gaze away from the now-glacial sea to the sky. The sun was completely covered by cloud. The next snowfall was already on its way.

Elizabeth shivered, and realized her fingers had gone numb. She quickly retreated back into her bedroom and shut the doors. She then dressed herself in her simplest - and the warmest she had - gown and headed downstairs.

She met her maid at the foot of the stairs. "Good morning, Miss Swann," she said in a subdued voice. "I was just comin' to wake you for lunch."

Elizabeth smiled faintly at her maid. "Thank you." Her maid only nodded her head and went on her way.

Elizabeth headed towards the dining room, lost in thought. Why was the weather so strange?

She came to the dining room doors and paused. She took a deep breath and, holding her head high, marched in.

Her father was already seated at the head of the table, as was his customary place. He looked up when she entered. "Ah," he said, turning his attention back to his food, "Good morning, Elizabeth, or rather, good afternoon. I trust you slept well."

Elizabeth couldn't believe it. There was snow outside, the ocean was frozen over, and her father was acting like it wasn't happening! What was wrong with him? Didn't he understand that there was something amiss?

"Is that all you have to say?" Elizabeth practically shrieked. "There's SNOW outside! The OCEAN is frozen solid! And all you say to me is 'I trust you slept well!' Don't you have any commun sense! Can't you see there's something wrong here!"

Her father merely sighed. Even in the innermost rooms of the house, his breath was visible. Governor Swann looked at his daughter like she was crazy.

"Don't speak to me in that tone of voice again," he said in a dangerously soft voice. "Now sit down and eat your lunch." He resumed eating.

Elizabeth was fuming, but she resentfully approached the table and sat down. She was hungry... She picked up her knife and fork and slowly began to cut up her filet of salmon. She put the first bite in her mouth and nearly choked. The normally exquisite fish was like flakes of paper in her mouth. How could she eat such a rich meal when she had been perfectly happy eating a simple one yesterday? The cold silence between her and her father only grew as Elizabeth attempted to stomach the meal, her fingers clumsy in the icy air. Suddenly, she couldn't take it anymore. There was snow outside, and she was trying to eat a meal she knew she never could or would stomach.

Elizabeth stood up, her heavy chair scraping loudly against the marble floor. "I'm sorry Father, but I suddenly find that I'm not hungry. So if you'll excuse me..." She headed towards the door, her heels tapping smartly against the hard floor, betraying her haste to leave.

Her hand was on the doorhandle when she heard her father's chair grate against the floor. "Wait!" commanded her father. She winced. She'd nearly escaped.

"Yes?" she said through clenched teeth.

"Where are you going?"

She opened the door and paused halfway out of it. "The blacksmith's," she called over her shoulder. "I'm going to see Will. It'll be warmer near the forge anyway."

With these final words, she slammed the dining room door behind her and dashed for the front door. She didn't bother looking for better shoes or a warm coat, because she knew they didn't have any in the house. They lived in the Caribbean; they had had no need of them until now. She merely ran as fast as one could in calf-high snowdrifts, heading towards the smithy. As she hurried down the road towards the center of town, far overhead, the first of many snowflakes began to fall.