We often forget that our parents are people in their own right. They weren't just created with us in mind. They have pasts of their own, hidden loves we never get to hear about, a childhood of their own. One thing they certainly have is secrets.

There was a silence. My mother was looking serious, sad; building up to something that I was sure was going to be uncomfortable to hear. I let the silence drag on, not entirely sure what to say to her. It was odd to see her looking like this. Odder still, was when it was I who comforted her by taking her hand. Usually, it had been the other way around. A small smile lifted the corners of her lips as I did so and I felt a little bit less odd, knowing that I was doing the right thing. She was still staring ahead of her at where the thick fog had blanketed the scene that had been before us. Her eyes were bright with an unshed pain. It made my heart ache to see her this way. I wanted to say something to cheer her up, but I was completely at a loss for words. "You may have noticed," she took a deep breath. "You may have noticed that wasn't your father."

I nodded. "Yes… I had noticed," I paused, unsure if the question I wanted to ask would be one that she would be okay with answering. It was a difficult position to be in. If this had been Elizabeth I'd have no problems quizzing her over a mysterious man, but this was my mother. Did I have permission to pry into her past private life from a time long before I was born? I felt myself tense as the words slipped out, "What happened?"

She shrugged and sniffed back her tears. "It's just one of those things, darling. A love like that could never have worked."

"Why not?" I asked. She smiled bitterly.

"Surely you've noticed the way our class are," she said. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I hadn't turned out exactly the way she may have planned. I doubted that she'd understand. At least James had been there to witness the build up to it. The last time my mother had seen me, I had been ten years old and terrified by my father's tales of the pirates he had faced. To her, it would have been such a drastic and sudden change, she probably couldn't have dealt with it. I would feel bad for telling her the truth, as it could potentially upset her further. I'd already lost my mother once. I didn't want her to shun me in death. I pursed my lips and nodded, feeling guilty for hiding who I was. In an odd way it felt like I was betraying myself by doing so and, indirectly, betraying Jack. Perhaps I'd tell her. When the time was right. But for now, it would be easier just to agree with her, because I knew better than she could have imagined exactly what she was talking about.

"Yes," I said. "I have noticed."

She nodded in agreement and the fog began to clear again. When it did the first person I saw was my father. My heart leapt when I saw him. I wanted to run and hug him, but I doubted that I would have been able to. My mother saw the excitement in my eyes and my smile froze. I wasn't really sure if that was the correct reaction for me to have. After all, I hadn't yet found out what had happened to stop my mother being happy. Had it been my father's fault? Had he treated my mother the way George had treated me? I relaxed when I saw my mother smile. "Don't worry, Isabelle," she said. "I do not doubt that you will see your father soon enough."

I nodded, not quite sure what to take from that, and looked back at the scene that was unravelling. My father looked young, fresh-faced and leaner than I ever remembered him. He was also being a lot quieter than I ever remembered him being. He was looking at young Emile, who was standing on the opposite side of the room in a haughty silence refusing to look at anyone else. I could see that her eyes were red and she was trying very hard not to cry. Her jaw was clenched in a determined silence. Between both of my parents stood both of my grandfathers. They were looking rather pleased and friendly, despite the coldness that was radiating from Emile. Either they hadn't noticed, or they didn't care. They shook hands.

"I'm glad we have settled on a date," my mother's father said.

My father's father nodded in agreement. His smile was bright. "The 23rd of next month it is, then."

I saw Emile tense in the corner, before she shot a glare across the room at her father. He ignored her and both he and my other grandfather left the room, deep in a quiet conversation.

Lawrence Norrington shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He clearly wanted to break the silence, but wasn't really sure how to go about it. "It's nice to finally meet you, Emile," he said at last. She glanced his way, but did not reply. I could see her struggling with her desire to maintain her haughty silence and her impulse to cave in to what her manners were screaming at her to do, which was politely reply to him. Lawrence took a small step forward, "I mean to say… we have been betrothed for some time. It's nice to put a face to the name." There was another moment of silence and I could see that Emile was cracking under the pressure. Lawrence extended a hand to her. "I know you do not want to be here, but I assure you, I am a good man. And I will make a good husband."

It was then that Emile cracked and turned to take his hand. He bent to kiss it and Emile looked at him properly for the first time as he straightened back up again. "I don't doubt that you are good," she said, looking slightly apologetic. "It's not you that I am angry with, it is my father."

"I understand," Lawrence nodded. Emile relaxed and even managed a smile.

"Good. I apologise if I seemed rude, Lawrence," she said sincerely. "That was not my intention," she shot a glance at the door her father had walked out of moments before. "At least not towards you, anyway."

"It's fine, Emile," he assured her with a smile. "We will learn to get along, I am sure. I don't want a miserable marriage any more than you do."

Emile smiled again, but this time she didn't really mean it. I assumed she was thinking about a certain James Swallow. I wondered what had become of him and if he was still in her life. There was another moment of silence before Lawrence's father came to take him away. The pair parted in a cordial manner, but the moment the door closed the atmosphere between young Emile and her father was icy. He sat down at a desk and pulled a quill and a piece of parchment towards him. "You see," he said, not even looking at her. "That wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

Emile folded her arms again and looked furious at having been caught smiling in the company of the future husband that she did not want. "I won't marry him, father," she said with a voice full of conviction. I could see the tears falling, although she was trying desperately to hold them back. "I won't."

He didn't even bat an eyelid or look up from whatever he was writing. "I don't see why not, Emile. He's a promising young man, from a respectable family."

I noticed that everything he had mentioned was everything that James Swallow was not. "I can't," was all she could manage to say.

"You can," he told her. "And you will." She stood there for a moment, seemingly routed to the spot by her own rage. It took a while for her father to notice that she was still there. He looked at her and sighed in exasperation. Laying down his quill, he turned to her, "You're not still upset over that… boy are you?" Emile flinched and her father sighed again. "I thought I'd put an end to that nonsense."

Her bottom lip began to tremble, but I could see that she was trying her best not to crumble under her father's glare. "He… he…" she stammered.

"He has been banished," her father said sternly. "You know that. He won't come back here, Emile. You may as well just forget the boy."

"Never," Emile's voice was so quiet that it was scarcely a whisper. Then she said it again, louder. "Never. I'll… I'll…"

The fear of her father forced her back into silence. He smirked. "You'll what?" he prompted.

"I'll run away," she tried to sound defiant, but her voice came out a little bit squeaky. "I'll find him."

Her father scoffed. "Fine, by all means. You have nowhere to go, my dear."

At that Emile turned and fled from the room. Her father looked sadly after her before burying his head in his hands. My mother tugged on my hand. I glanced at her. "Come on," she said. I followed her out of the room.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"We need to find me," she said, which is a confusing enough sentence to wrap your head around, never mind everything else that was going on. "You need to know the rest of the story."

I started worrying about how and where we would find her, but then, as I followed my mother, I realised that she would know exactly where to look because she had already been there before, She led me through her childhood house, through the reception hall the dining area and finally to the kitchens where the door to the gardens was hanging open and letting the rain in. We moved quickly into the gardens and down a long, winding path to the stables where I could hear the sound of a girl crying. Young Emile was sitting down beside a chestnut brown horse. She was clutching a saddle in her hands, but they were shaking so badly that she couldn't quite manage to fix it on. There was a moment when she just let herself become completely overwhelmed, dropping the saddle to the ground. Then she stood up, wiped her tear soaked hands on her dress and picked it up again. She slung the saddle over the horse's back and fixed it in place. She swung herself up into the saddle and rode out into the night.

My mother turned and walked quickly out into the streets of London. I followed closely behind us. The streets were sparsely populated with the few remaining Londoners who were up at this hour. It was still an eclectic mix of people even in spite of the lateness of the hour. Some of them were drunken men, whom my mother avoided. Due to my time in Tortuga, however, I was more amazed that there were people who were awake at this hour for reasons that weren't related to alcohol. Some of them seemed to have jobs to do that either entailed coming home late at night or working through the dark hours. It seemed that the whole of London city moved to accommodate us as we ran after young Emile. We travelled faster than we should have been able to, always within earshot of Emile's horse's galloping hoofs on the cobbles, but we were never fast enough to see her riding. When the noise stopped we caught up with her in a matter of minutes.

She was standing at the gate of a house on the other side of London. Her horse stood beside her, breathing heavily and desperate to cool down. She rested her hand on his nose and calmed him while she stared up at the house. It was of the same grandeur that hers had been, so I could only assume that they were of the same class. What was she doing here? She opened the gate and after tethering her horse to it, she slipped into the empty garden and round to the stables of this house. A light was flickering inside. When young Emile saw it she froze. We stood beside her and started at the same spot she was. We stood there for so long that I wasn't sure if Emile was ever going to move again.

"Why are we here?" I whispered, unable to take the suspense any longer. My mother just nodded towards the stable door and said nothing.

I continued to wait. Young Emile carried on her fixed stare, unable to tear her eyes away from the door. When it sprang open she jumped. It was James who had opened it and when he saw her standing there he stopped. I saw his eyes widen. The silence between them was long and uncomfortable to look on. I felt, more than ever, that I was intruding on a private moment between them even though they couldn't see me.

"Emile…" he whispered eventually, stepping fully out of the door and letting it shut behind him. "What are you doing here? How… how did you find me?"

Young Emile moved closer to him and tried to take his hand, but he wouldn't let her. "James," she said tearfully. "I… I had to find you. They're trying to make me marry."

"How?" he snapped. "How did you find me?"

Emile gulped. "I… I… One of the kitchen maids… she… she told me where you and your father had gone."

He took a step back from her. "Me and my father?" he repeated. She nodded. "Do you remember why we were sent away Emile? Do you remember why we were cast out and left without work?"

Emile blinked. "Yes… yes, I know that I-"

"Because of you," he pointed an accusing finger at her. Her mouth dropped open. "Because you felt the need to tell your blessed father that we were in love."

"We are," she protested, but her voice was shaking a little. She doubted herself and she looked terrified. Terrified of losing him. James looked away from her, but even she could see the anger in his eyes.

"Emile we lost everything!" he was dangerously close to raising his voice, but his furtive glances towards the house told me that he didn't want to draw any attention to what was going on from its occupants. "We lost our work, our home, the lives we had built and for what?" Emile had started crying, but James wasn't finished. "So that you could try and live out some childish dream we once had?"

"Was that all it was to you?" her voice rose several pitches.

"That's all it was to anyone, Emile!" he said, louder than he intended. I felt my mother's pain at his words. I took her hand as young Emile began to cry harde than ever. "A dream. It was never going to happen."

"But… but…" Emile stammered.

"But nothing," he snapped. "You had nothing to lose by going to your father and announcing your grand plan. We lost everything. Everything. Because of you. Just so that you could piss off your father."

For a moment nothing could be heard apart from Emile's sobs. James was shaking with a mixture of sadness and rage. Emile took a tiny step forward. She gulped. "I love you," she said quietly, gulped again and almost reached for his hand, before she thought the better of it. "That's why I… I didn't mean to… I didn't think that he would…" She trailed off.

"That's the trouble," he agreed. "You don't think."

She looked away from him, since he was refusing to look at her. She looked around at the garden before her eyes were drawn back to him. "I'm so sorry," she said and her sadness built back up again, making her voice crack. "James I'm so sorry! You have to believe me... I would never… "

She was getting hysterical and her sobs were getting louder. A light went on in the house beside it. James spotted it when I did and looked immediately alarmed. Emile remained oblivious. James shushed her. "I believe you, I believe you," he said, but I wasn't sure whether it was sincere, or if he was just trying to shut her up. Young Emile was clearly thinking along the same lines as I was because her tears did not subside or quieten. James reached out and took a hold of her shoulders. "Shh… shh. You have to be quiet. Please… Emmy…"

At that, young Emile threw her arms around his neck and kissed her James as fiercely as she could. It only lasted a moment before a door opened and a voice called out into the dark, "What's going on out there?"

James immediately took hold of Emile and led her away from the stables and back to where her horse was waiting for her. "Go," he told her. "Go, now."

"No," she stayed stubbornly where she was. James looked behind them at the house, from which another shout rang out into the darkness. Someone was coming. "I ran away so that we could be together. I'm sorry for what I've done. I'll make it up to you, James. I love you and we can-"

"Emmy…" he said quietly and she stopped talking. "It's too late."

There was a silence. Young Emile frowned. "What?"

"It's too late," he said again. "I'm married."

Emile stepped away from him. "You… you're what? " she looked at him in utter shock.

"I'm married," he said again and suddenly it was clear why he'd been so hard on Emile when he had seen her. This is what he had been sparing her. "It was arranged not long after we found work here. She's a nice girl. She brings in money to help look after my father. She's…." he trailed off.

"James is that you?" the strange voice called out, it was louder than it had been before. Whoever it was, was getting closer.

"You have to go now," James said urgently.

He steered her out of the garden towards her horse, but she still made no move to ride home. She looked up at him with big sad eyes. "Do you… do you love her?"

"Emmy…" he sighed. "I love you. You know that. I always will."

She nodded and he helped her onto her horse. "Are you happy?" she asked, looking down at him.

"Yes," he said. "I'm happy. I love you and I miss you, but I'm happy. And you will be too."

"James I-" Emile's last words to James were cut short as the owner of the house was upon them. James spurred Emile's horse into movement and she cantered off into the night. James turned to face whoever it was that had caught them, his employer, I presumed, as that strange fog descended around us again.

"That was the last time I saw him," my mother said quietly. I turned to look at her, glad that I still had a firm grip on her hand. "I couldn't go back, not again. I was seen that night and of course the news spread like wildfire."

I could very much sympathise with what my mother must have gone through, all the gossip she must have faced. I thought back to the way that people in Port Royal had acted around me, Will and Elizabeth when we had first returned from saving Elizabeth, the way that they had handled the Governor's daughter being engaged to a blacksmith and finally how I had been forced to hide who I was when George had tricked me into staying with him. They would also never have accepted James and Emile, no matter how in love they were. The air around us was suddenly full of whispers. Vicious words about the scandal circled us. Loudest of all were her father's words. His anger, his disappointment in her stupidity. It was painful just to listen to, but then I saw it too. The mist cleared on Emile and her father sitting, once again in the same room as Lawrence and his father. From the conversation, it was clear that what had happened had put their arranged marriage in jeopardy, although neither Lawrence or Emile said a word on the matter. The sat side by side in silence while their father's worked it out. Eventually, James looked up from where he had been staring at the floor.

"I don't care," he said. "I don't care what she has done. She is a good woman."

Underneath the table, I saw my father take my mother's hand and I smiled.

The picture before us froze on that image and my mother turned to me one last time. "I was happy," she said. "Eventually. I loved your father, although I was not in love with him." I nodded to show that I understood. "What I wanted to teach you here, Isabelle, was about love. It can come in many forms, my darling and although I was not with James he was always a part of my life. I've shown you the meaning behind yours and your brother's names. It's important not to forget a love you once had. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I nodded. My mother's story had shown me more than that. In it I had seen a parallel between her life and my own. James Swallow had been her equivalent of my darling Jack, but she had never had the chance to be with her James. I supposed then, that my father had been almost like George could have been to me, if things had panned out the way they were supposed to.

"Our time is up, darling," my mother said. "You need to get back aboard your ship and continue your journey home. Tomorrow, your father will tell his tale, but for now you need to rest." Without me realising it she had walked me back to the Pearl. I was glad. Thoughts of Jack were making me feel dreadfully homesick and the promise of rest gave me a hope of travelling back to see him again. As I stepped up onto the gangplank I turned back to look at her.

"Goodbye," I said the words that I'd never had a chance to as a child. "I love you, mother."

Suddenly, she grabbed my arm and looked at me intensely, "Do not forget a love you once had," she repeated her words from earlier. "I shouldn't be telling you this… but it's vital that you remember, Isabelle. Because someone here will tell you a tale to try and-"

She was cut short and began to fade away. Her eyes were wide, wild, desperate. Her lips were still moving but I couldn't make out what she was trying to tell me. And then she was gone. I stood there for a moment, staring at where she had been, before James's shouts reminded me to get back on board the Pearl. I looked up to see him holding Rebecca and smiled a weary and tired smile.

The fog cleared away completely and The Black Pearl was left sailing on still, clear waters, as she had done before. When night fell my mind was full of Jack and I prayed that sleep would bring me back to him. I worried constantly. I worried about how long it had been since I had last seen him. I worried about how my physical body was doing and whether or not I would be able to get back to it. I worried about our little boy and whether or not he was being looked after properly.

And Jack too. Jack was in need of a lot of looking after.

Please review :)

Chapter 12 review replies 3 THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed

Sookdeo: Haha, no! The ghosts will probably go on for longer than you'd think.

AdaYuki: THANK YOU Sorry it took so long :S

PirateNinjaCJS: Hahaha, I'll try my best to make them longer in the future and don't worry, Jack will keep popping up from time to time. We'll be checking in on him too ;)

GoTeamSkipper: Thank you! And now you know what happened to him. It didn't end so well- for once Isabelle had a hunch about something that turned out to be right. Makes a change.

WulfLuvr12: Hahaha, yes it was indeed a lot of foreshadowing going on :P

Also there was a Guest review asking me a question from someone calling themselves captain jack on Dead Man's Chest, but obviously since it was unsigned I can't reply through PM. If that wasn't anyone reading this feel free to ignore it, but if that was you, then thank you And in answer to your question I actually came up with Izzy in a dream I had once, many years ago.

LOVE YOU ALL
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