Fire And Ice

Elizabeth hugged herself closer to Jack's chest, hiding her gaze from the slowly sinking Dutchman, as the maelstrom took it into the depths of the sea, her husband along with it. Jones had stabbed him through the heart.

The grief welled up, painful and black, and her grip slowly began to loosen on Jack's shirt. She just wanted to drop into the sea, and let its wet embrace take her. Maybe she would see Will again. She had nothing left to live for; Beckett had taken everything from her. Not even thoughts of vengeance could cede their way into her mourning consciousness. She very much wanted to crawl beneath a rock and stay there until her bones turned to dust.

One word brought her back from her emotional precipice.

"Bugger," she heard Jack mutter, and she opened her eyes to stare at his face. They were using a sail as a kind of airborne float, ensuing they did not hit the water with a smack that would pulverise their bodies. But they had floated the wrong way; they were now looming over the EITC armada, the white sails gleaming in the sunlight as the clouds cleared.

"Bugger," Elizabeth returned the sentiment, trying to keep her grip on Jack's shirt. But her hands were covered in slime from the Dutchman and her grip was fast becoming tenuous.

She slipped, as the wind blew them towards a massive great monster of a warship, which she recognised with a surge of dread as the Endeavour. They were slowly descending, the wind dying, and they would hit the water with a gentle splash. But it was too late for Elizabeth; she lost her grip entirely and with a cry, she fell into the ocean. She barely heard Jack's surprised yell, beyond the rush of air in her ears. She dimly saw Jack's boots, dirty and wet; she noticed Jack the monkey shivering as he clung to the ropes. But then she hit the water, and it felt like hitting marble. The air was crushed out of her lungs, and she sank beneath its undulating waves, her vision speckled with black. The last thing she saw, as she dropped into the peaceful blue depths was Jack's worried face as the wind changed again, and he was blown away, back to the pirates' side. Then she gave herself to the sea.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth?" at the alarmed cry, Elizabeth gradually returned to the land of the living. She opened her eyes, swollen and crusty from sea salt, wincing from the light and wondered how she was still alive.

The first thing she registered was that she lay upon a hard surface, possibly wood considering the knots in the surface that she could see. A cold wind lifted the wet strands of hair from her face, and the voice calling her name seemed somehow familiar. Warm arms caught her up, hugging her to a chest, and for one wild moment she thought Will was alive once more, but when she managed to focus, surprise flooded her.

Dressed in a dark green frock coat, cradling her like some fragile treasure was her father, desperately searching her eyes.

"F-father?" Elizabeth spluttered, choking on seawater. She clutched at his lapel, searching his eyes. If she was with her father, then where was she?

Dimly, she became aware of another figure, standing beside her father, looking down upon them. A figure which sent lightning hot shards of anger and dread through her.

"Miss Swann. Welcome to the Endeavour," Lord Beckett smirked, his smile predatorial as he stared down at the bedraggled woman cradled in her father's arms.

Elizabeth struggled to ignore the warmth in the arms holding her, carrying her into the devil's lair itself. She did not want to feel the heat, or the surprising muscle in the arms supporting her.

She was laid upon a small sofa in the captain's cabin, her father perching beside her once Beckett had deigned to move away after he had deposited her hence. Her father stroked her hair tenderly, smiling down at her. Elizabeth could only lie in shock and surprise. If she was on the Endeavour, then why wasn't she in the brig? Why hadn't Beckett merely had her shot dead in the water, rather than rescue her? Her shock was compounded further, by the solicitous manner in which he bent over her.

"She is probably dehydrated from the amount of seawater she ingested; she needs rest," he told her father, after looking her over with a practiced eye.

"Oh? And what makes you an expert?" Elizabeth said sardonically. Her voice came out in a dry croak. Her father hushed her, but Beckett only smiled his most superior, his most infuriatingly arrogant smirk.

"Many years spent fighting in India, my dear Miss Swann. Now you are no doubt wondering why you weren't merely shot on sight, or thrown in the brig upon arrival? Yes?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Elizabeth nodded, her suspicion in her eyes. She didn't trust his benevolence; he could turn as quick as a viper.

"Simply enough, Miss Swann. I made a deal with your father; he demanded your safety in return for his services. I always make good on my promises-"

"Only when it suits you, my lord," she interrupted sarcastically.

"Lord Beckett, now may not be the best time to tell her," Governor Swann said in a whispered aside, his eyes almost begging him to desist. Beckett watched him amusedly.

"Maybe you're right; it would be more….appropriate to tell her myself, alone, when she is recovered…"

"SHE has a name!" Elizabeth muttered furiously to herself, wondering what they were talking about. Beckett's eyes flicked to hers, his amusement only growing.

"Elizabeth…" Governor Swann said warningly. Elizabeth fell silent beneath the warning in his eyes. Beckett turned away to his desk, his lieutenants fluttering around him like acolytes around their master. Elizabeth watched them through cynically amused eyes.

"Send this party of ships around to the east; we'll send the fireships to rout the pirates from there, where the wind can carry them. The main body will attack from here, send the schooners with the fireships for protection. Have the galleons form a defensive line in front of the main fleet; they'll be our main force during the attack….." Beckett's strategy gradually pierced the morass of exhaustion in Elizabeth's brain. Her ears pricked up, before she remembered she was Beckett's prisoner and far from being to help her comrades.

"Elizabeth? What has happened?" Governor Swann asked. He saw the sudden sadness in her eyes, the weary signs of grief in her face, the dimmed pain in her bearing, as though she were missing some vital part of her organs. Elizabeth turned back to him, her mind full of Will, and she saw the alarm in her father's face when he saw the black, roiling sorrow within her. "Has something happened to Will?"

Governor Swann's words had been a little too loud; out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Beckett look up from his maps and papers, watching her piercingly, calculatingly.

"My husband is dead," Elizabeth said, enunciating each word carefully, so as to avoid breaking down before the assembled officers. Every breath was painful, like red-hot claws raking down her throat. "He went down with the Dutchman," Elizabeth finished, flinching as the memory flashed, searing painfully across her mind. Pity filled her father's eyes, and Elizabeth focussed upon them, rather than acknowledge Beckett's gaze upon her. But she didn't want her father's pity.

"Maybe we should discuss this elsewhere," Governor Swann said, flicking a glance over his shoulder to Beckett. He stood, and turned to Lord Beckett. "Lord Beckett, if you do not mind, I wish to take my daughter below, to rest in our cabin," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Beckett's eyebrows rose. So the worm has a spine after all, he thought amusedly to himself. As it was, the pirate was a distraction anyway.

"By all means….if the pirate needs to rest, then take her somewhere more conducive to that purpose," he said silkily. Elizabeth was too weak to do more than glare at him, as her father helped her solicitously to her feet and half-carried her out of the cabin.

Elizabeth ran the sponge over her filthy skin, and couldn't help the sigh of delight that she was finally clean again. She felt the material rub over bruises and cuts, eliciting sharp hisses from between her teeth. Finally having finished her ablutions; she threw the sponge back into its basin and slipped her chemise over her head. Next, she threw on her light linen nightgown, revelling in the softly clean material. It felt like heaven after the stiff leather and coarse materials of the pirate clothes she had worn for so long. But she missed her breeches; the skirts of her chemise and nightgown caught around her legs. She shrugged into the golden yellow dressing gown, embroidered with flowers, and deemed herself fit to meet her father. She rolled her eyes at his earlier insistence that she clean herself up.

After Beckett had allowed them to go, Governor Swann had escorted her down to a cabin, a small but airy room which had evidently had been prepared for her. Her trunks had been against the walls, containing all of her clothing, much to Elizabeth's disappointment, her personal effects and books, as though her father knew that she would be sent back to him.

After which he had arranged for water to be sent so she could bathe, and left her to rest and recuperate. Not that she needed it; Elizabeth's trials had long since toughened her up, and not even nearly drowning would keep her on her back for long. Not when her Brethren were being slaughtered, a few leagues distant. The Endeavour had pulled away, to float in the very centre of the fleet, to act as a command centre whilst the rest of the armada did the slaughtering.

Obviously Lord Beckett doesn't like getting his hands dirty, Elizabeth thought to herself with a sneer. Sounds of cannonade and gunshots still filled the air outside, Elizabeth struggled to ignore them, couldn't fight the images being conjured by her all-too vivid imagination. Her knuckles turned white as she stared out of the window, as they fisted on the wooden sill of the porthole.

Cursing her restricted view; she moved to the larger bay windows on the opposite wall, and watched, as in the distance, two ships fought port side to starboard side. One was clearly an EITC ship, the other had to be a pirate vessel. Elizabeth felt her heart race, watching the two ships' dogfight. But it was clear the pirate vessel could not win; the EITC vessel was a huge third-rater, built for eradicating its enemies on the sea.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and uttered a prayer for the doomed souls aboard the pirate vessel. She hoped they died quickly, as free men, than being hauled back to face a public execution. She suddenly wondered what had happened to Jack, Barbossa and the Pearl.

"See anything interesting?" a cold, arrogant voice said behind her. Elizabeth spun from the window to face Lord Beckett. Anger blazed through her; she raised her hand to slap his face, impotent fury blurring her senses.

"Wretch!"

But he caught her wrist easily, holding her imprisoned in a grip of iron. Letting her feel his strength, hidden but still there.

"Now that is telling, when the notoriously cool Captain Swann loses her temper," Beckett said, his tone taunting, Elizabeth wrenching her hand away, glaring at him furiously.

"If I had a pistol now, I wouldn't hesitate to fire this time," she told him warningly, her voice so low it was almost a growl. Beckett smiled.

"I always did wonder why you never killed me when you had the chance. I would have done so, if I were you," he said, his tone bored.

"Because I am not like you, my lord," the honorific was sarcastic in tone, scathing in articulation, as though she thought him lower than some sort of parasite. Beckett merely smiled amusedly.

"I beg to differ, Miss Swann. Or is it Mrs Turner now?" he asked, a smirk on his face.

"I don't think my name has anything to do with you Beckett," Elizabeth said, her own eyebrow rising arrogantly.

"That is Lord Beckett to you, my dear, and it does have very much to do with me,"

"Oh? And why is that?" Elizabeth asked, curious despite herself. Maybe she would discover what her father and he had been talking about in the captain's cabin.

"All in good time, my dear. Now I have some things to ask of you, my dear. Firstly…"

"As if I would ever agree to anything you ask of me!" Elizabeth exploded, folding her arms obstinately. Her chin rose haughtily, and Beckett eyed it, wondering how to manage her resistance. He decided to continue as though she had not spoken.

"Firstly I must ask you not to attempt escape. You know the pain, as well as other things, that that would inflict upon your father. As for what else I have to ask of you, I wish to invite you to dine with me tonight, to discuss your future,"

Elizabeth froze at the inherent threat. If she escaped, her father would bear the punishment. But she couldn't stay, wouldn't stay to be Beckett's prisoner. As for her future, she had none now Will was dead. But she had to think of her father.

"Very well, my lord," she sighed, inclining her head in agreement. "It seems I have little choice, either way,"

"No you don't," Beckett agreed with an amused smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Elizabeth watched her reflection in the mirror and cursed. She had just finished dressing for her dinner with Lord Beckett, whilst all she wanted to do was hide under the covers of her bed. The battle was long over, the pirates scattered or destroyed. Elizabeth had been forced to watch from her cabin window, body aching with helplessness, her father putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. She had just lost Will, now she had lost her Brethren.

But now she couldn't deny that despite all that had happened, she did look good. Too good.

Her gown was a creation of sober silks, in shades of navy blue and ebony black. Suitable, considering she was in mourning. The sleeves hugged her arms, before ending at her wrists in a fluff of lace. The long skirts looked like a waterfall at night, gleaming in the soft candlelight from the lanterns. She grimaced at her reflection, feeling the restrictive whalebone around her waist. Her long golden hair was loose down her back, contrasting sharply with the dark gown, and she wore a pair of silver earrings. She looked unbelievably young; she looked like her mother, Elizabeth now realised. Except for the serious, sad brown eyes that watched her warily from her reflection. A knock came at her door; with a sigh, Elizabeth turned on her low stool, stood and went to meet her captor.

Lord Beckett sat in his chair, holding a glass of wine by the stem, admiring the ruby gleam. A knock came at the door, he sighed in expectation, uncrossed his legs and stood.

"Come," he called, his tone commanding. The cabin door opened to reveal Elizabeth, escorted by a guard. He waved the guard away, and Elizabeth stepped over the threshold, haughty arrogance a match for his. She looked down her nose at him, and he struggled not to chuckle. Her arrogance was amusing and intriguing to see.

"My dear, welcome. Come, sit," he gestured to a chair, standing in the process. Elizabeth went to one as far down the table away from him as possible, but he intercepted her and handed her into one directly beside his, at the head of the table. Elizabeth glared at him, then at the hand lying in the small of her back still. Beckett eventually removed it, turning to sit in his own seat. Elizabeth studied his form covertly.

He was only an inch taller than her, but he was as broad-shouldered and strongly built as many far taller than he. His was the build of a fencer, compact but powerful. She had to admit he had an aura of strength about him, which rendered him attractive, one built from strength of intelligence rather than brawn. His features were immaculate, yet not weak. Indeed, she snorted at the very idea of his being weak. He was like a viper; underestimate him and it would be the last thing you ever did. She imprinted the maxim on her heart, to remind her in the discussion to come.

"Something amuses you?" he asked, turning to face her as he sat. Elizabeth quickly schooled her face into cool blankness.

"Nothing at all, my lord," she said quietly. Beckett's eyes focussed on her face, trying to penetrate her icy shield.

"Well then, please eat," and with that he seemed to forget her, all his attention focussed on the spread set out for them. Elizabeth couldn't help it; her mouth began to water. For one moment, she allowed herself to forget her predicament, and the company, and set herself to enjoy the meal.

She hadn't eaten for twelve hours at least. On a pirate ship there wasn't much else except grog and biscuits. But now she was dining on freshly roasted beef, with sugared carrots and potatoes. The meat melted on her tongue; the carrots tasted like heaven and the potato was soft and buttery. She occasionally washed it down with draughts of red wine, exotic and spicy. She couldn't help but close her eyes in delight. She had always had an appreciation for the sensual delights of life. Beckett watched her with amusement.

"You're an intriguing young woman, Elizabeth. But then I suppose the fare aboard a pirate ship is not like this?" he asked, gesturing to the food before them. Elizabeth opened her eyes, blushing that she had been caught actually enjoying herself. "You seem to be enjoying it," he pressed, waiting for her reply.

"I was, until you started speaking," she said scathingly. Beckett mock clutched his heart, as if she had wounded him fatally.

"No need for the claws, Elizabeth. I was merely making an observation,"

"Would you please refrain from calling me Elizabeth? I was not aware that I had made you free of my name," Elizabeth snapped, taking a dainty sip of wine, steadfastly ignoring him.

"An oversight on your part, obviously, but I am not one to stand on ceremony. Besides what am I to call you? You did not answer me when I asked you whether I should call you Mrs Turner or Miss Swann," he said, one eyebrow raised, relaxing back into his chair.

"Miss Swann, if you must talk to me," Elizabeth sighed.

"Pity, I liked Elizabeth better. But it will make things easier if you go by your maiden name," Beckett said, setting down his glass and standing to walk behind her. Elizabeth froze, before she set down her cutlery with a clack and tensed her spine.

"Make what easier?" she asked stiffly, inwardly hoping she would discover, once and for all, what he had alluded to that morning.

"Tell me, when did you and Turner marry?" Beckett asked suddenly, ignoring her question. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.

"That is none of your business," she said, turning her gaze to the windows and the darkness beyond it.

"But you will answer the question, regardless," Beckett continued, stopping to place both his hands on Elizabeth's shoulders. They held her in a grip of iron, keeping her seated when she tried to rise, outraged. For some reason he seemed tense, Elizabeth wondered. She decided to capitulate, if only to remove his hands from her skin. The weight of them was doing strange things to her spine. It didn't matter anyway, she told herself, Will was dead. But it galled, nonetheless.

"Very well. If you must know, we married during the battle onboard the Dutchman. Captain Barbossa performed the office," she told him grudgingly.

"You were only married for a few hours? Then it was unconsummated?" he asked bluntly. Elizabeth felt her jaw drop, before she caught it and snapped her mouth shut. "I'll take that as a yes," Beckett said wryly.

"How dare-?" Elizabeth began, but Beckett cut across her.

"I assume you are curious as to what your father was so desperate for you not to know, this morning after we rescued you?"

Elizabeth shut her mouth and nodded. Beckett's hands gentled on her shoulders, and Elizabeth breathed freer. But his next words froze her solid.

"It is very simple, my dear Miss Swann. In order to fulfil my bargain with your father, I shall marry you, to ensure your continued safety.

"What?" Elizabeth cried, standing abruptly, before Beckett could stop her. She span to face him, infuriated.

"I promised your father I would ensure your safety, and the best way to do that would be to give you the protection of my name. In return, your father gave me his loyalty and services," Beckett explained patiently, waiting for the outburst he knew would come. Elizabeth paced away, unable to believe her father would sell her off so easily. But she wouldn't let him. She couldn't marry Beckett. The very thought made her shudder.

"No!" she cried, spinning to face him once more. She tried to walk out past him, but his coldly calm statement stopped her in her tracks.

"How uncaring a daughter. Obviously it means nothing to you that your father will have to bear not only your execution but his own?" Beckett asked of her. Elizabeth paused, her breathing harsh and shallow. If she refused him, not an easy task, he would not only execute her but execute her father too. And that she couldn't allow. He had her over a barrel and he, smug bastard, knew it all too well. She snarled and span, intending to fly at him in fury, but he was already in front of her, his iron fingers wrapped around her chin.

"Bastard!" she growled, trying to free herself, but he was too strong. Flames danced in his eyes, from where they sprung she had no idea, he was usually so icily controlled.

"Be very careful, Elizabeth. I hold the lives of yourself and your father in my palm, mine to do with as I please," he said, his voice worryingly close to a snarl. Elizabeth snatched her chin from his grasp, fire dancing in her own eyes.

"I will never be yours, my lord,"

"You are, Miss Swann, whether you like it or not. And so is your father," he added for good measure. Elizabeth looked away, and the tense atmosphere receded somewhat. "You really have no choice in the matter,"

And she didn't, not that Elizabeth could see. If she refused, she and her father would die, if she married him, her father would live. And so would she, after a fashion. Slave to Lord Beckett's whims.

"How do I know you will not go back on your word?" she asked.

"Please, Miss Swann, you're wounding my honour," Beckett said, one eyebrow raised.

"My heart bleeds, really it does," Elizabeth snapped sarcastically.

"As to that, Miss Swann, I will not go back upon my word. If you accept me, you and your father will be safe," he shrugged his shoulders.

"As if I have a choice. Very well, I will marry you, if it saves my father," she snarled finally, still standing with her back to him. Beckett was becoming tired of staring at her back.

"Excellent. Now that is decided….look at me," he ordered. His tone was somehow compelling. Elizabeth turned slowly, cheeks burning with degradation and shame. Beckett watched her, watched the defeated young woman, and felt desire rise. His palm curved around her cheek, and although she flinched, she didn't move away. Her eyes burned with tears; she was only just widowed after all, but he saw the awareness in her eyes, grudging maybe but still visible. He could reach her, if he so desired. She wasn't cold to him. But there was something else there, a desire to forget the travesty her life had become.

Elizabeth didn't move as Beckett stepped close, drew her into his arms, and kissed her. She remained passive until the heat in his muscles and his lips thawed her resistance, and she sank against him with a sigh. That very thought that this was wrong, so wrong, had disappeared, replaced only by the communion of their lips, moving oh so slowly against each other's lips. She felt a questing heat over her lips, questioning instead of demanding, and she acquiesced with a sigh. His tongue invaded her mouth, slowly but surely, and she felt the first stirrings of desire begin to rise. Desire for Lord Beckett?

The thought brought her up short, ended her enjoyment of the kiss, but Beckett wasn't about to let her go so easily. His kiss turned aggressive, and Elizabeth found her senses swamped by sensation, as her body responded, independently of her will, and theirs tongues duelled heatedly. She twined her arms around his neck, and he pulled her even closer, holding her against him as he plundered her mouth. Elizabeth gasped and fought to find her mental feet, fighting the desire clogging her mind. But she was far too tired to fight anymore.

Beckett felt her reticence, felt her withdrawal and knew he had to stop. He didn't want to; to find her so responsive despite her apparent antipathy towards him was a heady intoxicant. But she wouldn't submit tonight, not so close to her husband's death. Her body said as much, even if her mind did not. But she would be his, soon. Another thing her mind had not yet discovered or accepted. He drew back with a frustrated sigh, releasing her slightly. Elizabeth blinked, and focussed on his burning blue eyes.

"I should kill you for taking such a liberty," She whispered against his lips, her limbs too weighted by desire to do anything of the kind.

"I know you want to, but you won't. I know what else you want, as well," he whispered suggestively, running his lips across hers one last time. Elizabeth drew away, out of his arms.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you're clearly deluded, my lord," and with that she escaped him entirely. Beckett smirked predatorily. He felt sure the next few weeks would prove interesting.

Elizabeth regained the safety of her cabin, her heart racing. She should have felt panicked, yet she didn't. She felt languorously at peace, despite the grief of the day. She changed quickly and slipped into bed. She smiled to herself when she heard her father's snores in the next cabin. She would do anything to save him, she knew and Beckett had exploited her weakness. But now she thought over the deal she and Beckett had made, panic began to rise. What was she to do?

Sleep crept over her, her warm limbs weighted by inescapable recollections of that kiss.