Their ship floated not far from their destination. It had been nearly three weeks since the feigned escape from Port Royal. Elizabeth sat on the stairs leading to the bridge, idly watching the compass and occasionally fingering her wedding ring, which hung from a chain around her neck; just days into her journey she found herself nearly caught out by Will, who asked where the ring had come from. It had been on her finger and she had forgotten to remove it prior to leaving the manor. It was an incriminating ornate gold diamond ring, which flashed in the sunlight like a beacon, announcing her deceit for all to see.

'It was my mothers,' she had lied to him, unable to look at him in the face when she did so. 'My father gifted it to me upon our return to Port Royal.'

It was a lie that Elizabeth knew he would not believe, despite the acknowledging nod he afforded her answer- her father was wealthy, but not wealthy enough that he could have bought such a grand piece of jewelry, and Will knew that too. She wondered if he had taken notice that she had since removed the ring and hidden it from sight. It was strange, being so near to her most recent fiancé- often she thought about how they ended. It was just that; they hadn't really ended. Perhaps Will even thought they were still engaged, which was an idea she hadn't given much thought to. Elizabeth felt sorry for it in some ways. Though she had initially dreaded the idea of breaking his heart with brutal honesty, she wished now that she had. She wished that her honestly had lead to a fight and everything came to light. It would have been painful and embarrassing for some time, but not forever. It would have been better than knowing that he still loved her and would vie for her until he found out the truth. Elizabeth was left tortured with the truth of it all.

From the stairs where she sat, she could hear Will talking to Mister Gibbs, who stood at the helm. They hadn't yet realized that she sat so near.

'Is it not strange to you?' Will had muttered lowly. 'We escape from prison, come across not one guard, and then there just so happens to be an unmanned ship waiting in the harbour?'

'What be you meanin'?'

'I don't want to think that its. . .' he lowered his voice, 'her. We've even seen the navy and not one ship has made a move against us. Surely they're looking for a commandeered ship of the fleet? Is it not suspicious?'

'Aye. . .'

'She escaped prison with charges against her, and yet when we returned-'

Elizabeth stood, interrupting the conversation. She scowled at Will with waspish eyes. 'You might do well to feel indebted to me; I could have let you rot in that cell and left Port Royal on my own.' Without a response from either of the men, who suddenly took to attending to the ship, she marched down the stairs and stalked into the chart room.

It was void of all life and too full of furniture. Elizabeth threw herself into a large leather chair in the corner and draped her legs over its arm. She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed loudly, wishing then more than ever that she was back in Port Royal. It was expected that the journey they were on was going to take months, perhaps even a whole year. How was she to go so long if so soon she was suspected? Then there was the idea of being away so long while her father and husband waited in Port Royal. Elizabeth imagined the row that must have transpired between the two when her father found out that Lord Beckett had let her leave. It wouldn't have surprised her if he had placed the blame on her to avoid his new father in laws ill humour. She couldn't blame him if he had done so.

Elizabeth sunk further into the chair and buried her face in her hands. The familiar sense of loss crept into her heart and tormented her thoughts. She missed her husband dearly and thought of him frequently, most often when she was left alone, as if the others could hear her thoughts. Most of the time her mind played macabre scenes of his ship sinking or a sword impaling his chest, but sometimes it crept to the more sensual side. While sitting in the leather that late afternoon it was the latter. She recalled one of the few nights they had spent together.

It had been an uneventful night, her first whole night at her new home. Lord Beckett had returned from the offices to share the evening meal with her, only to directly return to work with an apathetic promise to return by midnight. The letter he had received that morning from the King had promptly ended any potential fun for the day. Elizabeth hadn't minded that so much; she was exhausted and even after their little reunion on the stairs, Lord Beckett afforded her no sleep. Only once the sun had risen above the horizon for an hour and the letter was brought to his attention did she finally fall into a blissful sleep, finally waking when afternoon tea was brought to her at three o'clock. After their evening meal together she had retired to her chambers to wait for the return of her husband once more.

'Culpeper had called Catherine, "my little, sweet fool," in a love letter; she considered marrying him during her time,' Elizabeth had whispered to herself as she read, 'as maid-of-honour to Anne of Cleves.' She laid before the crackling fire on her stomach, with her head propped up lazily on one hand. That hand was tingling as it fell asleep beneath the weight of her. 'During the autumn, a crisis began to loom-' she yawned loudly.

It was a history book that Elizabeth had been reading, one about the scandalous Queen Catherine Howard, her favourite Tudor queen. She felt herself able to relate to the young queen who had met an untimely death; a woman who was killed for faults that would have never befallen her if she had simply not been born into a world made for men. Elizabeth thought most of her problems would also be avoided if not for the demanding and war hungry law makers.

The doorknob clicked- Elizabeth's brown eyes had flicked up to see her husband quietly entering her chambers; she went back to reading as he ambled towards her. She saw him sit beside her on the floor out of the corner of her eye.

'Ah- Queen Catherine Howard,' Lord Beckett had said as he peeked over her shoulder. 'I daresay your interest in such a woman isn't surprising at all.'

'And why is that?'

Lord Beckett hadn't responded. Instead he traced his fingers across her back and to her hip before forcing her onto her back. Elizabeth sighed and repositioned the book above her head, still reading. He gathered a handful of her lace and chiffon skirts and pulled them up to her thigh, exposing her slender legs. An ink stained finger skimmed up her smooth skin.

'I'm preoccupied,' Elizabeth whined, arguing his actions, but her words didn't avail her. She let the book settle on her chest as his fingers wondered higher up her thigh. 'How boorish of you. Here I am, a lady, minding my own-'

'-you hardly behaved as a lady last night, if I recall correctly you-'

'-don't,' Elizabeth had cut him short, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

A smirk had played on Lord Becketts face. 'I think it's simply rude for you to call me boorish while you're so. . .' he ran his hand all the way up to the soft flesh of her boney hip, 'indecorous, I suppose is a fitting word.'

Elizabeth had given a breathy sigh, unable to stop the familiar feelings of fire building up deep within. That growing need for what he could offer, driven by the scarlet way he spoke and his hand placed so indelicately beneath her skirts. Her mind had flashed back to that morning, just before the sun rose, when they had been tangled in satin bedsheets as she rode him. Elizabeth bit her lip.

'I know what you want,' she had whispered. 'Do it.'

'Ah-' his voice had suddenly turned smug, far from the sexuality that it had previously seeped. 'But you're wrong- I don't find myself in the mood that. However-' he moved over her legs. 'I could do you a favour. . .'

'And what favour is that, my lord?' the question had been asked with her eyes slit in suspicion.

Lord Beckett had leaned over her and whispered, 'Spread your legs for me and I'll show you.'

Elizabeth didn't find herself in her usual state of wanting to argue and challenge all that was said. The tightness of her loins demanded attention. She had parted her long legs and watched as Lord Beckett made his way down her body, before lowering his head to the apex of her thighs. Part of her was horrified, but most of her was intrigued. As she felt his breath pass over her most intimate part she closed her eyes and sighed. His tongue ran the length of her slick desire. She moaned as his tongue had blissfully caressed every sensitive fold. Her thighs trembled as the passion inside her coiled, tighter, making the journey higher and higher, trying to reach the plateau of drunken orgasmic pleasure. Just a few more-

'Elizabeth,' a voice interrupted the memory. It was Will, standing by the double doors of the chart rooms.

'Oh-' Elizabeth stood quickly, as if caught out in the very act she was remembering. She stumbled in her franticness and knocked over a nearly empty bottle of rum. 'Will I-' she didn't know what she was going to say.

'I want to apologize for what you heard,' he said, his voice never harsh towards her, as usual. 'I just wish I could see why this all seems so strange to me. If it's a part of a plan and you can't trust me, you can, you know you can-'

'I can't talk about this now, Will-' she picked at the dirt under her fingernails, unable to look at his boyish face- 'it's better that you don't understand.' Was it better? Elizabeth felt guilty that yes, it was better that he didn't know, but only because she needed the crew members.

Will cocked his head and let out a loud sigh. 'I feel like the only person who was under the impression that when we returned to Port Royal we would be married. Was that not the reward for giving the compass to Lord Beckett? Freedom for us so we can wed? Yet I saw none of that freedom.'

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and uncomfortably shifted her weight to her other leg. 'I'm sorry Will, a lot's happened that neither of us expected,' she wished she would stop talking, fearful that she was soon to lead him on like the obeying puppy he was. 'I didn't know that you were still imprisoned until my father made me aware,' she lied. 'It was him who helped me escape with you and the crew and the ship- Will, too much has happened to worry about the wedding- what with Davy Jones and the heart, and Jack-'

'There is no wedding,' her mind warned.

'Yes,' his eyes slit. 'Jack.'

Suddenly, the door burst open, much to Elizabeth's relief. It was Mister Gibbs.

'Tia Dalma's island approaches.'


The long boat crept through the dark swamp. Elizabeth had noted that it had been light out when they had entered the swamp, but it seemed that twilight had come within the looming trees. Eerie figures holding candles stood within those trees and in the muddy waters, watching as the boat slowly passed by. They hummed a low tune that she had not ever heard. She could have swore she saw Jack more than once. Elizabeth wondered if they, like those aboard the long boat, mourned him, or if it was a ritual of sorts. Either way, she felt less than content with the situation. Her brown eyes scanned the perimeter of the boat, willing for Cotton and Pintel to row faster before any of the people came too close. Soon the lights of a shack crept into view and a new fear made itself known to Elizabeth. What if Tia Dalma told the others that it was she who killed Jack? She swallowed hard, her throat dry. The boat slowed to a halt and brushed against the old wooden dock outside of the shack. Will was the first to step onto its surface and held his hand out, which Elizabeth took, using him to steady her foot onto the dock.

Elizabeth had never seen anything like Tia Dalma's shack. It was so cluttered, even on the outside. Inside she was far more surprised and intrigued by all of the hanging jars of creatures and ingredients. A large yellow python was wrapped tightly around one of the trees that had grown through the old shack floor. Timidly, her fingers reached out and touched it's scaly skin- she had never seen a snake before, let alone touched one. A desk sat in the middle of it all, which held a dead bad put on display. Elizabeth kneelt down and examined it closely. As grotesque as it all was, it was certainly intriguing and warranted a closer look. The last time she had seen so many peculiar objects was at a museum in London when she was nine.

'Come,' Tia Dalma said, making the whole group jump as she silently appeared in the corner.

The crew followed, Elizabeth at the back, into a smaller room behind a beaded curtain. The dark beauty left silently, leaving them waiting on chairs and crates amongst the humid room. Gibbs stood in the a doorway across the room which lead outside, the paranoid aging man obviously vexed by the shack and ready to make a run for it if necessary. The only sound that came, beside the loud cicadas in the swamp, was the repetitive thud caused by Will absentmindedly throwing his knife into a wooden table top.

Tia entered the room once more, now with a tray full of drinks. She first approached Elizabeth, who looked down, hoping that she wouldn't be spoken to.

'Against de cold. . .' Tia looked Elizabeth into her eyes and spoke softly, 'and de sorrow.' Tia held out the tray.

Elizabeth took the mug out of curtesy and looked inside. It was a deep red liquid- she assumed it was red wine, but by the looks of the shack such luxury wasn't likely to be held in it's walls. She held it tightly in her hand, but did not drink. It felt to her that Tia should be, at least for the moment, considered an enemy. 'We trust no one but each other,' her husbands warning played in her mind. It would be trusting to drink blindly from a stranger.

Tia next went to Will, who she kneelt down beside. 'It's a shame. I know you're t'inking that wid the Pearl, you coulda captured the devil and set free your fadder's soul,' she consoled.

'Doesn't matter now,' Will took a mug from the tray, 'The Pearl's gone. Alone with it's captain.' He threw his knife into the table again.

Elizabeth had nearly forgotten that Will had said he met his father, a member of Davy Jones' crew. She wondered if it would motivate him to help get Jack back, or if he would shy away when the daunting task finally came to an ugly head.

'Aye,' Mister Gibbs chimed in from the doorway. 'And already the world seems a bit less bright. He fooled us all right to the end. But I guess that honest streak finally won out.' He stepped fully into the room and raised his mug. 'To Jack Sparrow!'

'Never another like Captain Jack,' Ragetti also raised his mug.

'He was a gentleman of fortune, he was,' Pintel did the same.

Elizabeth felt her skin prickling in guilt and her eyes burnt with the threat of tears. It was an emotion increasingly difficult to ignore when all those around her pitied the man that she had put an end to. Especially those who she thought wouldn't be so hurt over the loss. 'He was a good man,' she said half heartedly, wishing she could sound more genuine.

They all sipped after lowering their mugs; all but Elizabeth, who held it to her lips, but wouldn't drink.

Will put his mug down and met his gaze with Elizabeth's with sorrowful eyes. Her guilty brown eyes darted to the floor. 'If there was anything could be done to bring him back. . .' Will muttered to Elizabeth, watching her still. He stood. 'Elizabeth-'

'Would you do it? Hmm?' Tia Dalma jumped onto her chance- well, their chance, Elizabeth supposed. The two woman made eye contact as Tia glided across the room. 'Would you? Hmm? What would any of you be willing to do? Hmm? Will you sail to de end of de eart' and beyond. . . to fetch back witty Jack and 'im precious Pearl?'

The room was silent. The first and only plan that Elizabeth and Lord Beckett had to appease Tia hung on that very moment. In that moment she felt that none of them would agree and that whatever wrath that the witch held over the pair for their mistakes would be swung down swiftly. But before all hope disappeared, Mister Gibbs stepped forward.

'Aye,' he said proudly.

'Aye!'

Soon most of their small crew had agreed. Tia turned to Elizabeth once more, silently asking a question that she knew the answer to.

'Yes,' Elizabeth said as she nodded her head softly.

'Aye,' Will whispered just after her.

Tia Dalma smiled a smile that was much less scary than what she had delivered to Elizabeth and Lord Beckett in the dead of the night. 'Alright,' she breathed. 'But if you're goin' brave de weird, and haunted shore, at world's end den. . .' she moved to stand beside Elizabeth, 'you will need a captain who knows dose waters.'

Footsteps came down the wooden stairs, riddled with candles. The group all moved to see who it was, curious and afraid. Elizabeth stood from the crate that she had sat upon and moved towards the center of the room. She could hardly react when the familiar face finally descended. Her mouth opened like a fish as she took in the familiar face- like a phoenix rising from the ashes, it was Captain Hector Barbossa.

'So tell me,' Barbossa barked loudly in the small room, 'what's become of my ship?' He smiled cruelly and took a bite of a green apple, it's juices leaking down his beard, before giving a hearty laugh.

WRITERS NOTE

Thanks for reading! Would have updated sooner, but things have been really busy here with Easter and we're on holiday in Dover right now!