(Hoping for more reviews, but for now I serve my one reviewer smile. Here is a scene of my own creation that happens promptly after the conversation between Will, Elizabeth, Lord Beckett, and Governor Swann. This is not quite as detailed as the first/second chapter, due to the nature of actual conversation instead of internal turmoil and such. I have decided to end every chapter with the first line of a scene in Dead Man's Chest, seeing as we already knows what happens. I will also alternate between the point of views of Elizabeth and Will. This has a little Elizabeth POV, but mostly Will. Occasionally I will join the two.)
Governor Weatherby Swann followed the red coats down the corridors, but was promptly halted upon reaching the hectic streets, now alive with scattered voices and giddy children. Although the soldiers crossed their long axes for the second time to block him from rendezvousing with the convicts, the political figure still stepped forward, shouting to a familiar soldier, who he had directed long before Lord Beckett had arrived.
"Please, do what you can for my daughter and the boy."
The couple's necks snapped as they awkwardly spun around to the voice. Will sighed and stared at the irons, shaking his head at being called a "boy" yet another time. He wondered if he were ever to be called a man.
"Father, what can anyone do for us?" Elizabeth snarled bitterly, although she immediately regretted her sharp tongue and added softly, "We are to be locked in a cell."
"At least employ a vacant one." Governor Swann replied helplessly, his eyes welling with remorse over the situation.
"I will do what I can, Governor." The soldier finally replied as the innocent pair climbed into separate carriages.
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Indeed, Weatherby's request aided in obtaining an entirely unoccupied chamber for Will and Elizabeth, and after removing the manacles, the two were left alone except for a single guard who stood near the staircase. For a moment, the pair just gazed at one another until Elizabeth finally spoke, stepping into her fiancé's arms.
Her voice was ragged as she clutched onto his arms. "Will, how could this happen? My father granted you clemency." She wrapped her hands around his waist, seeking comfort, and bumped her forehead against his lapels in frustration.
"Unfortunately," Will answered, stroking her blonde damp strands, "clemency only lessens the penalty of the crime, Elizabeth. It does not forgive it entirely." It was a grave statement that neither had considered during their year of amorous bliss. "Lord Beckett has every right to arrest us because he is under a higher power."
Elizabeth briefly wondered how Will had come by this information, and she glanced at his stern expression, loathing the professional tone he had spoken in. The woman gently tugged out of his grasp and collapsed on the wooden bench, attempting to somewhat straighten her lop-sided hair. "Why do you think he did this now on our wedding day?"
Will began to pace erratically, occasionally brushing against Elizabeth's bulbous flared skirt. "He must desire something." In fact, Mr. Turner had no idea what Lord Cutler Beckett could crave for from an apprentice blacksmith and a governor's daughter, but he was aware that no ruler, purely evil or not, would abruptly decide to induce an execution. As his beloved sat in silence, leaning against the stone wall and writhing her hands, Will padded across the slotted wall, ignoring his fellow prisoners who hollered for attention.
Captain Jack Sparrow. The deceased Captain Barbossa. Cursed pirates and Aztec gold. Aztec Gold. No, this lord could not possibly yearn for cursed pieces of treasure, could he? But the Black Pearl... The name was suddenly spread out before him, as if in neon letters, and he drummed his fingers on one of the steel bars. It was the fastest ship in Caribbean, and it was the only possession Jack truly seemed to value with his life. That damn vessel had, for the second time, suctioned his and Elizabeth's lives into Captain Sparrow's bewildering ploys.
"The Pearl." The pair announced the word in unison, their thoughts perfectly in line.
Elizabeth clarified their presumption. "He must desire the Black Pearl under his possession."
Will nodded as the woman lifted her dainty feet, swiveled to where they were propped up on the bench, and stretched out her long legs. She suddenly trembled, and her countenance turned an appalling shade, her eyes bulging with frightening thoughts. He whispered her name tenderly and began to remove his jacket, but she protested, maintaining wavering eye contact.
"No, there is no need. I'm not cold."
He tilted his head and crossed over to her side. "Are you all right?"
"I do not want to lose you, Will."
"Who says you are losing me?" He knelt next to his lady, placing his hands across her lap quizzically. As she spoke, he could not help but admire every contour of her lovely face and adore those acute brown eyes.
She gripped his hands, pulsing them in an undulating rhythm. "We are facing the hangman's noose. We could both perish, and I do not want either of us leave this earth without saying our vows."
Her voice creaked in extreme anxiety, and although Will had come to an understanding of Elizabeth's mounting desire to be with him beyond verbal communication, he had not realized how much the actual marriage meant to her. "Elizabeth... I promise-"
He was cut off by the guard, who was jamming a key into the cell. "Lord Beckett requests your presence in his office."
Will stood back up with Elizabeth's fingers interlaced with his own, and before he could flee her eyesight, the woman yanked him into her grasp, rose on her tip-toes, and swathed herself in his arms. She tenderly kissed him, and he returned the fervor, draping his arms around her waist and upper back. If only they could stay this way! And if only this kiss was sealing their vows to one another.
"Mr. Turner, Lord Beckett awaits."
Parting from the ardent embrace, manacles were rapidly attached to his wrists, and he glanced over his shoulders, murmuring, "I will return." She bit her lip as her eyelashes fluttered past the reoccurring tears. As he ascended the staircase with the red-coat in the lead, Will Turner cast a final glance to his bride, who plopped down upon the bench, wiping her face in agitation.
He strode through the city with his head held high, disregarding the cynical remarks he received from regular customers. They must know that he had done nothing wrong. How could they believe he was a villainous criminal? Will Turner had long ago acknowledged that he was constantly called honest and noble for a reason, although he never gloated about his impeccable loyalty and strength in mind and body. But now, with women scowling at the well-dressed prisoner, he pondered the possibility of losing everything he possessed if the confrontation resulted in his and Elizabeth's freedom or even a milder sentence.
The guard led Will into an elaborate edifice, adorned with gold encrusted mirrors and the finest wood in Port Royal. His buckle shoes clipped together as he marched up the glimmering staircase, gazing at the detailed portraits of country and city life. Two doors were swung open and absorbing a rigid and vexed attitude, Will Turner entered Lord Beckett's office accompanied by the guard.
As Will assessed the mural that was in process, the soldier addressed the short wigged man in utter obedience. "Lord Beckett. The prisoner as ordered, Sir."