Okay, this chapter gets a bit… odd towards the end. I hope it's not confusing as to what happens, but if it is, I'll try to explain as best I can. Remember the dreams Will and Elizabeth were having?


It was a dark morning; but then again, it was always dark here. For that, though, Elizabeth was thankful. It was difficult enough to watch her step atop the rocks, the frothy ocean spray dappling her, without having to worry about someone seeing her. All the same, she kept her eyes open as she drew closer to the cart of coffins.

A few years ago, the thought of being so close to lifeless bodies would have perturbed her, but now, after so many battles, after seeing so much death, she hardly batted an eyelash. Her hands fumbled around the roughly carved wood, searching for a smooth surface, the dim torchlight from the towers above being her only guide. From the folds of her uniform she drew a knife and made two perpendicular notches into the top corner of one of the boxes. This was the way she passed messages on to Bootstrap and Anamaria, and this particular mark- a cross- meant for them to continue to stay away. If she had engraved an arrow, they would begin the attack upon the prison.

Elizabeth moved her hand to the adjacent coffin, only to find it had already been imprinted with a sign identical to hers. A sense of relief washed through her; Jeremiah was also safe, then- for now. Her knife made one more "x" into another dead man's chest, and with that she was satisfied. If they made too many noticeable marks, they faced the possibility of discovery, but if they did not make enough, the Firebrand crewmembers might not find them. Sadly smiling, Elizabeth gave a gentle pat to the edge of the cart, as if thanking the corpses for unknowingly serving as her couriers.

Not too far away, there was a crackle of boots on stone; someone was coming. Elizabeth quickly crept back to the rocks before the trespasser could notice her, beginning the cumbersome journey to the fortress doors. Now was time to try and smuggle pilfered bread to the prisoners that had a chance for survival… and also bring the light back in one that did not.

-------

It was so hard to stare through those bars, helpless and desperate as Will faded further away. The few moments they had alone were precious, and Elizabeth had to use them as best she could to clean his wounds with the sparse materials from her satchel, trickle some stolen water into his throat, force some morsels of bread down, and battle his delirium.

The first order was difficult to carry out, as the grime surrounding the scars had to be delicately scrubbed away with what little cloth and water she had. She hardly dared to wrap more than a small number of bandages around the worst gashes, applying a special salve of Jeremiah's to banish the infection. If there was enough water in her metal canteen, she would wet a rag to place on Will's burning forehead in an attempt to ease away the fever. The whole cleaning process was a tricky and lengthy business to carry out, working between the presences of other guards; twice she had escaped from the cell just in time, a soldier turning into her corridor at the same instant when she pulled her key out of the lock. Slowly but surely, though, Will's body, on the outside anyway, was becoming cleaner and healthier-looking.

With the dirt cleared away, it was glaringly apparent how thin he was. It seemed so unnatural compared to her memories of the tall, muscular blacksmith; this Will was too weak to even talk properly, let alone wield a sword. He needed nourishment badly, and the few victuals Elizabeth had to offer were hardly fit to bring back his strength. And what she was able to get down his throat rarely stayed in his deprived stomach. Water was a little easier, and for that she was thankful, but all the same, Will was painfully frail from lack of food.

But without a doubt, what took the hardest toll on Elizabeth was Will's delirious state. He had not spoken to her yet, and still gazed at her unseeing. There were a few times when a spark was there, but these instances were rare, and she could never tell what he was thinking. Sometimes she would just sit there with his head in her lap, urging him to show her a sign, and yet those eyes remained cloudy and confused. It became increasingly difficult for Elizabeth to have faith, as it diminished every time she was unable to bring him back.

Sometimes he spoke, but never to her. It was mostly traces of names that she caught, a cry to those he loved. Usually it was Bootstrap he called for, or his long-deceased mother; Anamaria's name was whispered frequently as well. Also oft mentioned, though, was Elizabeth herself; this event never failed to bring a tear to her eye, or a frantic prayer into her heart.

Every day, Elizabeth told herself she would be able to save him; this was one matter in which she would not fail, could not fail. She had come all this way and went through all this just to find him, and she would not just let him slip away. With each passing day, though, her confidence shattered just a tad more, and it was getting harder to mend the cracks. Every sunrise brought her closer to facing the imminent truth… that cold, dark door of failure… that death was creeping ever closer for Will Turner.

And no matter how much she wished, no matter how much water was in her canteen to heal him, there was nothing Elizabeth Swann could do stop it.

-------

She held him again that night, her rough fingers caressing the bruised skin and lifeless face. Tears fell as what seemed like years passed, and still she grasped onto him, as if he were her saviour instead, and if she let go, she would drown in a flood of her own despair and guilt. No longer did she care about the other guards or pirates in their cells. No longer did she care about the plan. No longer did she care about herself.

"Don't leave me," Elizabeth whispered, sobs cluttering the only words she had ever had for him. She curled upon the stone beside him, drawing his limp body to her own. Her tears dampened his cheeks, and still he did not move. Her hands stroked the scars, and still they ensnared his body. The tattoo of her heart beat against his chest, urging his to keep doing the same, and yet he slipped further away from her.

Will was in her arms, but it was if Elizabeth was in his, begging him to find her. An almost hysteric grief had tethered her to him, keeping her beside him on the floor. The lament inside her became a resigned weariness as the night wore on, and finally she closed her eyes, as if shutting off all hope that remained in front of her…

… And in her final sleep beside him, a dream arose…

-------

An eternal darkness surrounds her, like shadows creeping up her skin and into her heart. At first she can see nothing; the impenetrable night is all that exists here. It is behind her, above her, beneath her, consuming her in its invisible maw. Whispered voices echo in her ears; she cannot understand them, but a chill reverberates through her all the same. Shutting her eyes makes no difference; the obscurity is all in the same, and the voices still persist.

When she opens her eyes again, something flashes in the distance ahead. Not really a flash… more like a dim, white glow, like the light a weak candle flame makes on a wall. It comes again, hypnotically beckoning her vision. Her mysteriously bare feet make a step forward, feeling nothing but stone beneath… granite made of shadow. A shiver runs up through her spine.

A silhouette has appeared in the soft illumination, hardly distinguishable from where she is standing. Her mind wonders about this, but it is the light that she drawn to deeper for the moment.

Its source seems to be a fountain, comprised of black stone and silvery-dark water. The many tendrils of wintry liquid collide and connect with each other, pooling together in a seemingly bottomless bowl, forever falling until a shadow ends their journey. She cannot tell where the glow is coming from, but it dances on the surface all the same, teasing the viewer as it attempts to conceal the darkness beneath.

At first enchanted, she is now overcome with a horror that she can't explain. She backs away- and the silhouette of the stranger once again catches her eye, and this time her full attention and wonder. She thinks she knows him, but she can't be sure.

He doesn't look at her, yet seems to acknowledge her presence. After many long moments pass, he speaks. "Do you find it beautiful?"

She hesitates before answering him. "I cannot say. It seems to be, but… there is something about it that is not beautiful, something sinister, if you find my meaning. I wish I knew what it was."

"It is death," he murmurs, his voice a purr and a growl at the same time. "Here we are, ever closer to it. For many days I have stepped nearer, and now I am just about there, ready to taste it… I have been thirsty for so long…"

She reaches out to him. "Don't do it!"

"Why ever should I not?" he asks slowly, turning his head; but the last words die as he identifies her.

Another tremble runs through her, for now she can see his face, and recognize him for who he is. They had met in many dreams before this one, and for so long they had not seen sight of one another. Her cold heart beats faster as the light reflects off his face; she remembers the soft sand of the beach, the ocean sighing in their ears, their eyes, arms, and lips finding each other… Everything is dimmer now, his eyes hardened to a glittery black.

The marvelling, amorous expression on his face tells that he remembers her too, and for a moment, they are transfixed by each other in this land of night. Once again her heart quivers in her chest, before settling into a soothing, content beat that only that barely-existent smile of his could bring about. He can say nothing, but the edges of his eyes sparkle a bit more with a fusion of joy and forlornness. She raises her hand again tentatively, resting it upon his cheek. "Come with me," she presses. "I can take you to the sunshine."

"You came to me," was all he could manage to say.

She steps closer to him. "Yes," she whispers. "Yes. Please, come with me."

He blinks slowly, and glances back at the fountain, its velvety streams and splashes still a siren song to him. Brows furrowing, he does not know what to do.

Her hand slips into his, and he turns to her once more, their faces mere inches from each other. She brings her lips to his ear. "Let's go back there for a while."

A nod. He turns away from the fountain for good, with her still firmly beside him. The light still waltzes in the corner of their eyes and the surrounding voices persist, but they know it is not yet their time to answer. Together, they cross the darkness one footfall at a time; he walks at a more hesitant pace, but she is always able to keep him with her. The warmth of their hearts is the only torch in the long, dark path.

… At least until they can see the sunlight, dotted with palm trees and ocean and hope. When their bare feet feel the sand, they know they are home.

A bit of flaxen-gold sun is visible over the horizon; not a terminal sunset, but rather the rising of a new morning. They simply stand there, side by side, drinking in the beautiful sight and the emotions it ignites inside them. Finally, he speaks.

"Thank you… for bringing me back."

-------

In bewilderment, Elizabeth felt her mind come back to consciousness, and she kept her weary eyelids closed, afraid to see what had happened to Will. How dare she let herself sleep! Now he was probably dead, gone forever… she had not been strong enough to save him. But what had the dream meant? Even now, the details were crumbling away. A new wave of tears shimmered under her lashes.

Then a gentle puff of air tickled her wet cheeks- a breeze? No, any wind in this prison was a damp, cool draft, not with the heat this one had. At that moment it occurred to her; it was not a breeze, but the breathing of someone alive.

Her eyes gingerly fluttered open… to see two long-lashed mahogany orbs staring back into them, not confused or delirious, but knowing, solemn, and bright… eyes that she had last seen in the dream. He blinked them once, still watching her with a soulful wisdom, a sallow torchlight sending a bead of light amongst the brown irises.

Elizabeth could do nothing but return the gaze, allowing her vision to travel down his now meaningful face. His heart throbbed soundly against her own. She could feel the warmth in his skin, but it was a pleasant one, not the burning of fever. The realization of what had happened froze her. Somehow, she knew he had shared her dream too, that he had all this time, and that through some means of power that neither of them had before possessed, it had been enough- she had been enough- to bring him back. Right then, through her awe and mystification, she could do or say nothing.

But he could. After their eyes let many words pass between them, Will spoke to her, a single word that she had heard many times before, in a voice that was still hoarse and feeble, but never with such relevance and meaning as this; the proof that she had not failed.

"Elizabeth."

He had returned.