Author Notes: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney et al. Poster Notes: This is whydoyouneedtoknow's story. She wishes her ffn account to remain reserved for her Harry Potter stories, and (once I'd bugged her enough about posting this to ffn) gave me permission to post to my account, rather than put a non-HP story on her account or create a new account just for this story.
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Elizabeth Turner stood on the shore of the island and watched her husband row away. Ten years. Ten years. Half her life to this point, though it would shrink to a third before he came to her again.
Better than losing him forever.
If she could be true to Will Turner for those ten years, and he to her, then the curse would be lifted from them. She would restore his heart to its rightful place, and he would live again, and…
And we will have grown apart. However much we may love, ten years is a very long time. We may be able to pick up the threads of our lives, but it will be neither easy nor pleasant.
And what of me? Elizabeth stared at the black outline of the Flying Dutchman against the redness of the setting sun. Will's boat had almost reached the ship. Ten years alone, caring for myself, perhaps a child…and how will I explain that? People look enough askance at women alone who once had husbands, husbands whose existence can be proven. What will they think of me?
Her hand fell to the chest on the rock beside her.
Who will I be, for those ten years?
The faint, steady beat of the heart within the chest lulled her. Her breathing slowed, her own heart matched its pace to that of the heart she guarded, and Elizabeth knew in that moment that she was thinking in the wrong terms.
I must not think 'who will I be', but 'who am I?'
I am the wife of the captain of the Flying Dutchman.
I am the King of the Brethren Court.
I am Elizabeth Turner.
And I will not be denied.
She snatched up the chest in her arms and raced frantically down the beach, sand flying under her boots. The wind picked up, sending salt spray into her face and hair, and clouds gathered in the sky from nowhere. Waves lashed against the rocks as she skidded to a halt at the water's edge. Will was climbing aboard now, in another few moments the Dutchman would be under way…
Elizabeth crouched down and planted her hands in the water, holding the chest on the flat of her thighs. "Calypso," she whispered. "You have known love. Hear my prayer, and do not let me be parted for ten years from the two loves of my life…"
She fell silent. The heart throbbed its soft, unending rhythm.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
Lub-dub.
The world ended.
xXxXx
William Turner, captain of the Flying Dutchman, the man tasked with guiding the souls of those who died at sea safely to World's End, had just come aboard his vessel when it happened.
From a clear sky, a screaming wind whipped about him and his crew, lashing the water about them into enormous waves that battered the ship back and forth, shaking the masts and lines until Will thought they would snap. Spray soaked them all, and then the most enormous wave Will had ever seen in his life roared up and over the Dutchman. He snatched at the railing, clung to it, but the water rushed past him and away without harming him at all.
Nor, as far as he could see when he'd cleared his eyes of salt and rime, had it harmed his crew. They still stood where they had, though they were wetter and considerably more baffled.
The sodden person lying at his feet was another story.
"Elizabeth!" Will dropped to his knees beside her, frowning as an absence made itself known—he couldn't place what it was, but something was missing within him—and whoever was beating that damned drum, speeding up the pace every second, he was going to keelhaul them himself—
As he rolled Elizabeth onto her back, the reason for her odd hunched posture became clear.
Oh.
"Hold this, Mr. Turner," Will ordered, handing the chest containing his heart up to his father with what in any other situation would have been callous indifference. Will, however, had more important things on his mind. He lowered his head over his wife's chest, then sighed in relief. Elizabeth's heart, at least, was still where it ought to be, and working as it should. Judging by the rather distracting movements near his left eye, she was also breathing, and he could see her eyelids starting to flutter—
Will pulled back just in time as Elizabeth sat bolt upright.
The sea brought her to the Dutchman, a voice whispered in his mind. She is a seafarer, in peril of her life, saved out of the waters by your vessel. You must follow the Code.
Will sensed more than heard the crew gathering around, knew the whispers that would be running through them. Some of them, the ones who had retained their human sense, had seen Elizabeth when she was last aboard. All of them knew of her, knew who she was, both in herself and to Will.
And none of them would let that stop them for a second if Will hesitated to treat her as he would any other lost sailor.
"Elizabeth Turner," Will said softly, "do you fear death?"
He knew the answer to that question, had always known it, yet he prayed with all his heart—the same heart he had left with her to guard and keep—that she would lie and let him take her safely to the End of the World. It would mean he would never be free of the Dutchman, for the promise between them would be broken as had the promise between Calypso and Davy Jones, but there were worse fates than an eternity at sea…
Elizabeth lifted her head and met his eyes. "No," she said in a tone as quiet, but as carrying, as his own. "I do not fear death." Her face wore the mild look that could so easily turn feral.
As it did in the next moment. "I defy death. As I defy anything that would keep us apart, William Turner."
Will stared at her, lost for words. What in God's name—
No, murmured the same voice in the back of his mind. Not in God's name. But perhaps in the name of a goddess…
"Ten years is the bargain," Elizabeth said, her voice rising so that the crew could hear her clearly. "Ten years you serve Calypso, guiding the souls of the sea's dead and never setting foot on land. Ten years I watch over your heart, keeping it safe from all harm. If at the end of that time we have both been faithful, Calypso releases you from the Dutchman, from the sea, and you live again." Her head turned, her eyes sweeping over the crew of the Dutchman. "Have I understood it properly?"
"You have," said Bootstrap Bill from behind her, going to one knee to look her in the eye. "What has it to do with your being here?"
"It has this to do with it." Elizabeth's tone could not have been matched by a queen. "I am the King of the Brethren Court, and as such I have dominion over all free ships of the sea. The Flying Dutchman is the freest ship of all. What better ship could I choose to sail upon?"
"But if you guard the chest…" Bootstrap began doubtfully.
"The terms of the bargain say ten years," Elizabeth spoke over him. "Ten years that I must be faithful. They say nothing about spending those years on land, away from the sea." She looked back at Will, and her smile made his head spin. "Nor do they say that you and I must be apart."
Will forced himself to draw a breath and realized Elizabeth's smile might not have been the only reason he'd felt faint a moment before. "So they do not," he agreed hoarsely. "And the sea brought you to the Dutchman…"
"I called upon Calypso," Elizabeth said, her hand reaching out to meet his. "She answered me."
"Then the goddess has spoken, and who am I to disagree?" Will caught Elizabeth's hand in his own and pulled her close, unable and unwilling to stop himself from grinning like a fool. "Mr. Turner," he said formally, looking at his father over his wife's shoulder, "would you be willing to settle for a lesser place than we had planned? Your original place seems to have been usurped by Her Majesty." He raised an eyebrow, glancing down at Elizabeth. "Or would that be His Majesty? You are a King, after all, not a Queen…"
Elizabeth laughed a shivery little laugh into his chest. "Will," she said, lifting her head just enough to make the words audible. "Shut up."
Bootstrap Bill inclined his head, though there was a definite look of mischief in his eyes. "Aye aye, Captain," he said. "Far be it from me to come between you and your…mate."
Will sagged against Elizabeth, closing his eyes rather than watch the crew try to conceal their smiles.
But laughter is an old friend of mine, and friendly laughter easier to take than other varieties.
"Set a course for World's End, then, Mr. Turner," he said into the darkness. "I'll be in my cabin if I'm needed."
"I think we can manage without you for a time, Captain," Bootstrap said. "But your chest…"
"I'll take it." Will freed one arm, and felt the familiar wooden contours of the Dead Man's Chest laid on it. Without opening his eyes, he rearranged himself, Elizabeth, and the chest until he had a satisfactory layout. Then he got slowly to his feet, holding his beloved in his arms, their two hearts beating as one.
"Welcome to the Dutchman, Mrs. Turner," he murmured into soft, wet golden hair. "Prepare to be boarded."
And the captain of the Flying Dutchman carried his wife into the cabin and kicked the door shut behind him.
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Author Notes: Please tell me I wasn't the only one wondering why in the world Elizabeth, the King of the Brethren Court, the pirate lass who could buckle a swash as well as any man, would agree to stay tamely at home for ten years and wait for her man?