Terribly sorry for the lull! You'd think because it's summer and all, that I'd write out the chapters sooner, but I guess not. Thank you to everyone for being so patient! I hope you all spent the weekend reading Deathly Hallows, hm?

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Another nightmare, always entwined with darkness and endless warrens, impossible for her to escape, save for the fearful opening of an eye to the real world. No longer was he there. Sometimes she could sense a shadow, his presence, but she never saw him truly. Sometimes she heard his voice, husky whispers in her ear, but it never had the soothing effect on her like it had during their courtship and happier dreams. He was always asking her why: Why had she left? Why hadn't she come? Why couldn't he have been enough for her?

Elizabeth evaded the dream by snapping open her eyes in a panic, remaining rigid on her hammock for a few moments, as one always does after an unsettling nightmare. She swallowed once, as if trying to repress her unease, and absentmindedly brought a willowy hand to the soft, tired skin beneath her eyes, only to find tears upon her fingertips. Rubbing the moisture away, she swung her legs over the edge of the hammock, slipped her feet into her boots, and padded past the Firebrand's sleeping crewmembers to the trapdoor and outside, above deck.

Morning was on its way; the sky was a pale grey-yellow, with slivers of ochre sunlight along the horizon. Practically no one else was awake yet, save for one burly figure idly coiling a line of rotted cable into a neat beehive shape- Silas, Anamaria's trusted boatswain.

Silas was a muscular bear of a man, with swarthy skin that bore many scars, one of which was a particularly noticeable disfigurement that sliced across his left eye, giving him a rather ugly and frightening appearance. He rarely spoke or smiled, preferring the company of ships and the ocean; at least they didn't press you for questions. Few people really knew of the clever intellect hidden beneath his rough exterior; Anamaria did, and that was why Silas was so fond of her. It was this old seadog that had helped her, Bootstrap, and Elizabeth concoct a plan to save Will and the other hostages of the Turkish prison (which, inevitably, was now owned by the East India Trading Company).

The Plan… Elizabeth shuddered inwardly as she looked at Silas, thinking of the plot contrived over the past week or so. In truth, it was relatively simple in structure, but it all depended on her part in it, and how well she could pull the job off. It wasn't simple at all, but downright dangerous, and if she made too many mistakes, everything would be for naught.

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Elizabeth was to pose as a guard, inconspicuously working inside the very prison itself as she learned its secrets, and how its walls could be penetrated. As she carried this out, she would try to find Will and a way to free him… if he was still alive, which they had no way of knowing for sure. They tried not to think about that as they worked out the rest of the Plan.

Bootstrap, Anamaria, and the rest would remain on the Firebrand, lurking a safe distance away as they tried to find other ships to recruit in the breaching of the prison. And every couple of days, one of them would cautiously row out in a longboat and check for Elizabeth's messages, which she would leave in a coffin to be adrift at sea. She would tell them when it was time to attack, and how they would go about doing so.

But it definitely wouldn't be an easy matter at all. Any section of the Plan could go wrong, and if Elizabeth were caught… Bootstrap realized this, and tried persuading her one of those nights to let her vital post fall to someone else, such as himself or Anamaria.

But Elizabeth wouldn't have any of it. "Bootstrap, I know you want to save your son," she had tried explaining as soothingly as she could, "but although you're a knowledgeable man, you're not a young one. The conditions in these prisons are harsh, and you might have to flee or hide at any moment if things don't go as intended."

Anamaria had softly put a hand on Bootstrap's slumped shoulder then. "Besides, we need ya wit' th' ship. These swabs don't know abaft from forrard without ya tellin' them so. And I couldn't go either," she added, gesturing to her dark face. "Doubt they'd fall for it."

But Bootstrap had still persisted. "I can't let the lass go alone."

"Then we'll enlist a couple of crewmembers that are up to the job," replied Elizabeth. "Please, Mr Turner." She had looked him deep in the eyes at that point, trying to make him- and herself- realize her cause. "I need to do this."

Bootstrap took in the raw guilt and determination in her gaze, a look he had seen in Will so often before, and finally understood.

"If you must, Elizabeth," he said, using her name for the first time. "If you must."

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Elizabeth stared out upon the ocean as she watched the sun slowly rise, clasping her arms around her in loneliness. She had done this so often on the Black Pearl, before Jack awoke and the day began. It felt like only yesterday she had been cheerfully kissing her pirate captain, carefree and lustful. Now here she was, estranged from Jack and up to her neck in a plot to free her once-fiancé, the long-forgotten Will Turner. Why? Elizabeth told herself that she had no other choice after the Black Pearl, and that she was doing it for Bootstrap and Anamaria, but that unruly part of her brain was saying otherwise: she wanted Will, and wanted him badly.

No! I have put him behind me! Elizabeth clenched her teeth together as her mind battled with itself. I don't need him, Ana and his father do, I'm doing it for them...

A hollow creak behind her made her spin around on her heel timidly, but it was only Silas, lurching towards the forecastle. He paused, curious at her edginess, his good eye looking at her with such soberness that it made Elizabeth feel as though he were reading her thoughts, like they were words on a scroll.

"You… you're up early," she murmured lamely. Silas was always up before the rest of them.

"Like to see sunrises," came Silas' gruff response. Elizabeth nodded in agreement before he continued, to her surprise. "You were thinking about him."

Elizabeth didn't need to ask who; she wanted to know how Silas could have known. Apparently his undamaged eye saw more than he let on. And, for some reason, she felt like she could tell the old sailor anything, and he would understand.

"…Will he even want me?" she whispered, a lump forming in her throat.

Silas answered her question with one of his own. "Did you leave him, or did he leave you?"

Elizabeth's lips parted, but her voice would not work. Silas blinked, a look of understanding on his deep brown face, and ambled away, leaving Elizabeth to her memories…

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A cold, grey rain surrounded everything, forming a partnership with the raging ocean to drown all those aboard the ships. With agonized slowness, the Flying Dutchman and the Black Pearl trod through the black waves to meet in battle, recklessly embracing the storm. Lightning flashed in the gradually diminishing space between them, and, suddenly, the furious waves swirled as one into a single immense tornado of wrath- the maelstrom had begun.

The two infamous ships finally met, and the melee began, but neither could hope to match the untameable fury of Calypso as she unwaveringly intensified the maelstrom. Cannonballs and crewmembers from both sides swung through the gale towards their enemy in the hope to wreak some damage. Few were succeeding, so far.

Aboard the Pearl, Will Turner brought his blade up to meet the mass of sea-life that was a Flying Dutchman sailor, slicing through seaweed and barnacles with a sickening crunch. Snarling in pain and outrage, the creature stabbed towards him with almost electrifying speed, and it was all Will could do to parry the attack. In one fluid motion he slashed his cutlass into and across his opponent's belly, sending the cursed crewmember reeling. Seizing his chance, Will dove across the deck, trying to get to a rope, so he could swing across the watery vortex- and bumped into Elizabeth Swann.

They froze for a few moments, staring at each other through the rain, forlorn thoughts echoing through both their heads; it was Will who broke their visual bond and ducked past Elizabeth and stepped upon the railing, his hand fumbling for a grasp on a rain-slicked cord.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth cried. "You'll be killed!"

Will glanced back at her. "I mean to free my father."

"You can't!" Elizabeth called back, stepping closer. "He's too far gone, Will; I've seen him."

"I made a promise," said Will, looking away from her, towards the Flying Dutchman.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but an impending Dutchman crewmember drew her attention away as she tumbled to avoid his blows. He very nearly killed her, if Will hadn't leapt from the rail, clashed his sword against the crewmember's weapon, and warded him away, finally sending him over the Black Pearl's edge and into the whirlpool below. Panting, Will turned to face Elizabeth.

"And what about me?" she asked, her voice sounding small in the gale. "Didn't we have our promise, too?" She reached inside the chest of her tunic and drew out a thin chain, upon which a tiny silver band hung.

Instinctively Will grabbed at the string around his neck, his fingers touching the identical ring amongst the other trinkets. In a heartbeat he remembered his almost-wedding as he glanced at it, grey raindrops flecking the metal. An uncharacteristic anger burned inside him, and he looked up at Elizabeth fiercely.

"We did have a promise," he growled lowly, "but it wasn't me who decided to break it."

"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth shouted, running up to him and grabbing his arm. "Will, I love you!"

Will laughed- a cold laugh that had never before issued from his throat, scaring even himself. "Liar," he said hoarsely. "You love Jack."

Elizabeth, horror-struck, didn't reply. There were no words she could form. An attraction, an overwhelming lust was what she felt for Jack Sparrow; growing stronger, yes, but it would never be equal to the bond she and Will shared. How could she tell him that? How could he understand?

Will gazed at her, the rain dripping into his eyes off his furrowed brow. Mistaking her silence as proof to his statement, he jerked his arm away from her grip. "Seems as if we've both made our choices, then. I won't hold you back any longer." With that, he turned his back on her and took a hold of the rope once again, baring his teeth. But beneath his anger, his heart was hopelessly breaking.

Elizabeth was stunned, unable to move or speak. Will was leaving her; he had left her. And she hadn't even tried to make him understand. In one terrible blow of emotion, tears began to mingle with the icy rain upon her cheeks.

"Don't leave me!" cried Elizabeth, diving forward to grab the rope he was holding. "Will, please! I need you!"

It was Will's turn to remain silent as he carefully pried her slender hand from the cable, not meeting her gaze. That was when Elizabeth understood; he didn't want her.

"Fine, then!" Elizabeth shrieked. "Go!" In her confused rage she shoved him away from her. Will, bewildered, unfolded a gentle hand towards her face, but she slapped it away. "GO! I hate you, Will Turner! I hate you!" She tipped her head down, futilely covering the tears.

Deep down, he knew she didn't mean it, but only his shattered heart controlled him now. He braced himself around the rope and departed the Black Pearl, fleeing his grief, leaving Elizabeth. As his lithe body flew through the tempest, he kept his eyes on her crumpled form, until the downpour concealed her. Then, it took all the courage in his soul to look away.

The bond of Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann had finally broken.

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Did you leave him, or did he leave you?

Alone and unsure, Elizabeth couldn't find an answer to that in her own heart.

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If there was anything to be said about Lord Reginald Spelford, it was that he was a patient man. He rarely made rash decisions; choices were calculated carefully, ensuring the path that would make his enemies hurt as much as possible. Sometimes it couldn't be bothered with, though- one such as he had to save his power for more pressing matters- and at that moment, the issue of piracy was treading toward that verdict of mediocrity. The sea rovers' days were soon to be over, thanks to the newly acquired Turkish prison.

Spelford was in this fortress now, pacing in the only reasonably comfortable room in the place. Whenever he decided to drop by, this could be called his personal chamber. A few red velvet chairs were gathered in various necessary areas, along with an adorned desk, smooth stone fireplace, and intricate-designed scarlet rugs. Spelford like fancy things, easily apparent from his heavily embroidered attire. A curly black periwig topped off the look nicely, and Spelford felt very fine indeed when dressed in his best garb.

But he didn't really need a distinguished appearance to command attention; Lord Spelford had an authority all his own. He didn't have to shout or use his temper to control; quite the opposite. At times, he possessed a rather eerie quality of calm confidence, and a cold voice, and this could be even more frightening than if he had yelled instead. Even when he was alone, as now, Spelford rarely showed his emotions. But one needn't be a mind-reader to know that he was pleased now.

The pirates were finished; he was sure of that. Absentmindedly he twirled his fire poker around, trailing a faint spiral of smoke as he paced in front of the sunrise seeping in through his window. He paused, lost in self-assured thoughts as he glanced at the sizzling insignia of a "P" on the end of the poker- a pirate brand. As if on cue, a yell of pain dimly echoed through the stone walls. The corner of Spelford's mouth rose ever so slightly; true, they didn't really need to brand the pirates, seeing as they would die in the prison anyway, but why not have a bit of fun with the torturing process? Perhaps the lapdog Mercer had some good ideas after all.

Sticking the end of the poker back into the fireplace, Spelford subtly noted the Caribbean pirate leaders left behind these walls: Black Smoke James; P. Marley; the Dread Pirate Roberts; Captain Turner, to name a few. Let the African Company have the Old World; the East India would have the New. Really, the only Caribbean pirates left out there that he was vaguely concerned about were Sparrow and Swann, but the Black Pearl was being tracked down; their wings would be pinioned, and they'd fall, just like the others.

Little did he realize that one of the birds was flying closer than he'd imagined.

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A few leagues away, Elizabeth Swann waited as the Firebrand sailed towards the shadows of her past.

"Here I am, Will," she spoke softly into the wind. "I'm coming."

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Hmm... I foresee a certain reunion in the next chapter...

Many thanks to StephCalvino, of course, and also:

Shani8, Smithy, Kchan88, purplediamond7, PirateAngel1286, williz, Peace Like a River, emily, luckyloser07, ross ithil wen, Heryn-o-Eryn-Duin, Brilliant5, Eagleschick86, Sarah Jo, DarkAngelmi818, oh-you-pretty-things, acacia59601, geeekindork, JTLfan, honestly dishonest, lateBloomer04, dustey131, butterflygoodbye, Nicole-Kazan, Morbidmuch, and Lin (by the way, it's set after AWE, if it had ended JE, that is). Your reviews are great!