You mean it's two years later and we're finally getting an update? Yep. The truth is that when I wrote the chapter, I had a lot on my plate, and decided not to continue actually writing the story. However, every time since that I have watched Pirates of the Caribbean, I couldn't help but think of this story, and I have finally decided to come back and write this. You see, I'm currently writing an original novel, and I'm getting to the point where I get too obsessed with it, and I need a side project to take a little break to cool down every now and then to stop myself from abandoning my original work. This is the perfect project as I have been imagining this story consistently for two years, and I have a pretty good plan in my head to the point that I can pick it up and leave it as needed.

Unfortunately, I have misplaced the original outline for this, but as this story just wouldn't get out of my head I have a pretty good idea of how this goes. Okay, basically that outline was mostly keeping track of where I put Syrena and Philip at what points in the story, but still.

So here I am, getting back to work on this story. No promises on this being actively updated, I will warn you, but I have not abandoned this.

Birds of a Feather

Curse of the Black Pearl

Chapter One

Dreams and Expectations

Philip's eyes snapped open.

The dreamy image of that day, eight years ago, was replaced by the all too familiar sight of his bedroom's roof. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, hoping to wipe away the image of those strange hazel one. But like the moment he had seen them all those years ago, they were forever burned into his mind.

Blowing out the candle on his bedside table, Philip stretched his sleep tightened joints and yawned. It couldn't be too late in the morning, but when he crossed over to the window and drew back the curtains to a sunny sky, he realised it wasn't very early either.

Shaking away the thought of the day he had met Will Turner, Philip began to dress in the clothes the servants had laid out the night before.

As Philip was a man, Uncle Weatherby was a lot more lenient on letting Philip do most things for himself than Elizabeth was allowed. For the most part, the cousins were allowed to choose their own clothes, but Elizabeth had to let the servants dress her.

On special occasions like today, neither cousin was allowed to choose and had to wear whatever was laid out for them. Philip – being only the Governor's nephew as well as a Pastor-in-training – usually didn't have to wear anything too extravagant. Meanwhile, Elizabeth regularly had to suffer through the latest fashion from London.

Philip was glad to see that today's clothing was elegant, yet simple; exactly the kind of clothes that suited his position in life.

He tossed aside his night pants; they were his only night clothes, having always found the heat of the Caribbean so great that he slept shirtless every night.

As he dressed, he took in the sight of his appearance in the mirror. He had certainly grown up since that day eight years ago. He was tall, semi-muscular, and he supposed he was handsome. The girls around town certainly giggled whenever they caught sight of him with his soft hands, straight white teeth, and brown hair kept a little longer than what his uncle considered proper. Philip usually kept his facial hair as a little more than stubble, and there was something strong and hopeful in his green eyes.

Philip certainly had no shortage of female admirers.

Females.

Girls.

The girl with the tail.

Philip shook his head, desperately trying to clear the recurring image from his mind. As much as he fought against it, Philip still couldn't help but think of the tailed girl.

Long ago he had shook off the thought that he had seen a girl with an actual tail, chalking it up to stress and reading Revelations one too many times.

But still...

He wasn't even sure he had seen a girl, much less one with a tail, but the image of her stayed with him. Not for the first time did he wonder if the Lord Almighty was sending him a sign, but he had no idea what it could mean.

Hanging his father's cross around his neck, Philip sighed, the image of the Godless creature fixing herself in his mind once more.

"Philip?" Weatherby Swann's voice accompanied a knocking. "May I come in?"

"Of course, Uncle," Philip fixed his collar and turned to the door.

Weatherby entered followed by a servant carrying a suspicious looking box, "Oh, good, you're up."

Catching sight of Philip, the Governor stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at Philip, transfixed by the sight of his nephew. Philip frowned at the unreadable expression on his uncle's face; it almost seemed as if he were seeing Philip for the first time.

"Uncle?" Philip asked, "Is something wrong?"

Weatherby shook himself out of his trance, "Oh, forgive me, I was caught a little off guard."

"By what?" Philip watched as the servant placed the suspicious box on the table, bowed to the two men of the house, and exited the room.

"By how much you look like your father," Weatherby smiled. "You've been looking more and more like Nathaniel in these past few months, but looking at you all dressed up with the look of pride and wisdom in the word of the Lord, I swear you could be his double. Except-"

"My eyes," Philip looked down, he had both a smile on his face and the starting of tears in his eyes. "You've told me many a time that I have my mother's eyes, the exact shape and size."

"It's not just the shape and size," Weatherby clapped his nephew on the shoulder. There was a warm on Weatherby's face that only ever appeared when he thought of the sister he so dearly loved and lost. "You have the same sparkle that reads of courage, life, and the search for adventure that my sister did. I'm sure she's proud of the fine young man that you've become."

"Thank you, Uncle," Philip fought to keep the smile on his face. "She would be proud of the way you've raised me."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," Weatherby chuckled. "I'm fairly certain that if the Lord ever sent my sister from the Kingdom of Heaven to speak to me, the first words out of her mouth would be: For the love of the Lord, Weatherby, lighten up on the kids."

"Well, Mom was a character."

"I suppose Elizabeth had to have gotten it from somewhere."

The men chuckled, but immediately a sad silence fell over the two men as they reminiscenced about Rebecca Swift née Swann. The memories had become blurred over time, less vivid to Philip than to Weatherby. Philip had precious few memories of his mother left – and even less of his father – but what was clear to Philip about his mother was her fierce love for God, life, and above all, her son.

Philip swallowed, composing himself, "So, to what do I owe to have the pleasure of your early morning visit?"

"Forgive me. I almost forgot," Weatherby laughed. "I wanted to talk to you before the ceremony today."

"About what?"

"Your future."

Philip's face fell.

"I know that you've been studying hard and that Pastor Thomas has promised to make you a full minister in six months, but is that what you really want?" Weatherby asked.

"No, you mean is that really what you want?" Philip turned away from his uncle.

"Philip-"

"No, I know what you're going to say. The Navy is good life. The missionary's life is lonely. I'm only doing it because my parents did. I've heard the speech many times before."

"Just listen to me. The missionary's life isn't what you think it is. It's not converting all the savages in a village within a week. It's dangerous, primitive conditions. There are language barriers, hostility, cannibals, deadly animals, poisonous plants, and not to mention tropical diseases. I don't want to lose you the way I lost Rebecca. Do you know how hard it was for me to watch her die?"

"Do you know how hard it was for me?" Philip whipped back around. "Watching your mother's life slowly ebb out of her is something I wish on no one."

"Philip, please. I know you're a grown man who can take care of himself," Weatherby walked over to Philip's bedside table and took Nathaniel's bible from the drawer. "But every time I see the bloodstains on this bible, all I can think is that I'll never see you again,"

"Uncle, please," Philip took the bible and faced his uncle, "I know what I'm doing. I know the risks, and I'm ready to deal with them. I know that, like my parents, I was placed on this earth to spread the word of God."

Weatherby placed a hand on Philip's shoulder, "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Philip answered without hesitation, but the image of the tailed girl flickered in his mind.

It took a moment, but then Weatherby sighed. He knew how hard it had been to get his sister to do something she didn't want. He knew better than to think his nephew didn't have that same spirit of conviction.

"Well then, you have my full support, Philip. Here," Weatherby walked over to the table and opened the suspicious box, "I brought you a gift."

Philip set down his father's bible, "What is it?"

When he reached the table, Philip was startled by his gift. Sitting before him was an elegant, yet simple sword with a hilt made of silver and his initials, P N S, engraved upon the hilt. Philip spent enough time with the blacksmith's apprentice to know that this sword was designed for a beginner who was not interested in any fancy technique. It was lightweight, evenly balanced, and on the smaller side, the hilt fitting his hand just right. Also in the box was a small leather sword belt with a place on his left side to sheath his sword and a pocket on his right side to place his father's bible.

"I knew that whether you picked the Navy or the Mission that you would reach for your bible first," Weatherby smiled as Philip admired his blade. "Now you can both preach and protect yourself in case something happens."

"Thank you, Uncle," Philip placed the sword back in the box.

"There's no need to thank me," Weatherby shook his head. "I'm just glad to know you'll be safe. Perhaps Captain- I mean, Commodore Norrington can show you some basic fencing skills before you decide to head off."

"Oh no. I'm sure the Commodore will be busy with his new position."

"I suppose you're right, but I do wish you'd find a teacher before you leave us."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find someone," Philip smiled to himself; he knew exactly who he'd ask.

"Now, if you'd finish getting ready for the ceremony, I have to go wake Elizabeth," Weatherby sighed, sounding more exhausted from his daughter's unladylike actions than annoyed about them. "Doubtless your cousin is still asleep."

"Doubtless," Philip grinned, nodding in agreement.

As Philip went to close the box, his uncle suddenly put out a hand to still him.

"Actually," Weatherby said, "I'd prefer it if you'd wear that to the ceremony today. You're the closest thing to a son I have, and the people like seeing a strong young man raised by the Governor around. Especially with the Commodore proposing today."

Philip frowned in confusion, "The Commodore's proposing today? To whom?"

"Elizabeth."

Philip's eyes went wide, "Elizabeth?"

Norrington and Elizabeth?

Really?

"Yes, Elizabeth." Weatherby frowned, "Why? Is there some sort of problem?"

"It's just," Philip shook his head in disbelief, "he's ten years older and not really her suited to her preferences."

"Not suited to her preferences?"

"No."

"Then who is?"

Philip blanched. There was no way he was going to admit who he thought would be a good match for Elizabeth. Uncle Weatherby would just laugh in his face and think he was being ridiculous.

"I- Er-"

"Oh, I get it," Weatherby smiled.

"You do?" Philip all but squeaked.

"Philip, I understand the feeling. It's what I went through with my sister. Elizabeth's your little cousin, and you don't want to see her all grown up and married. But she's not a little girl anymore, Philip. Gone are the days when you two could just run and play. Someday soon she'll choose a partner to spend her life with, and you're eventually going to have to let her go."

"You're right," Philip nervously tied the sword belt around his waist and placed his father's bible in it. "That's completely what I was feeling. She's my cousin and playmate, and I don't want to see her go, but I will have to someday let her go."

Philip thanked the Lord that his uncle was never really good at reading him or Elizabeth.

"Just remember that she'll always be your little cousin," Weatherby placed a fatherly hand on his nephew's shoulder. "To be honest, she's more of your little sister than cousin. But she'll always love you, Philip."

"Of course," Philip nodded.

When Weatherby left the room, Philip exhaled.

That was a close one.

But Norrington wanted to marry Elizabeth? Really?

He searched his memories of them, all the way back to that day eight years ago. Philip had to admit, there certainly had been signs, even when she had only been twelve and Norrington twenty-two. Not that Norrington was a child lover or anything. But even on that day they found Will Turner, there had been signs.

The sudden image of Elizabeth hiding something behind her back and the fearful gaze of the tailed girl crossed across his mind.

It was strange; he hadn't had that dream in years. Why was he having it now? It was almost as if he was going to see her-

No, that was impossible.

There was no way he was ever going to see the tailed girl again.

...Was there?

Will Turner stood nervously in the entrance way of the Swann Manor. He had always hated coming there, feeling like he didn't belong as the grandeur of the mansion taunted him with everything he couldn't have. But Mister Brown was once again passed out drunk, and it was up to Will to deliver the sword he had painstakingly slaved over.

The sword Mister Brown would, of course, take credit for.

Observing the clock on the wall, Will thought about how long it had been since he had actually stepped foot in the mansion. To his astonishment, he realised it had been a few years. Philip Swift and Elizabeth Swann had long outgrown their need for a playmate (or more accurately, had outgrown the propriety of it), and a servant had come to the smith make the commission for and collect Philip's sword.

The mansion had always intimidated him. Will had never even dared to dream of the level of wealth and comfort his former playmates reveled in, though he was grateful to know that neither cousin had a particular taste for such opulence.

Will turned to the silver candle holder on the wall beside him. He considered it for a moment, taking in the intricate silver work, and reached up to touch it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a familiar voice interrupted.

Will smiled, lowering his hand and turning to face that familiar voice.

"Philip," Will greeted as the Governor's nephew came down the stairs.

Will had, of course, seen his former playmates since his last visit, Philip especially being allowed to visit the blacksmith's apprentice. The minister-to-be would often make a stop at the smith whenever he visited town. The young men would tell each other about all the new things they had learned in the training of their future professions, and the listener would do their best to feign interest.

While Will appreciated the friendship to the minister-to-be, Philip had also ended up playing the role of messenger between Will and Elizabeth when propriety began to restrict their allowed dealings. In fact, over the years, even as the letters dwindled and their contents became increasingly briefer, both Will and Elizabeth knew to expect that "Philip" would bring them an extra birthday or Christmas gift, and Weatherby Swann would be none the wiser of the clear infatuation between Governor's daughter and Blacksmith's apprentice.

Will had certainly watched from afar as young Elizabeth Swann blossomed into a beautiful young woman, and Elizabeth had watched Will become strong and handsome. However, as society forbade them to express their true feelings, Philip had become their shared sounding board, confessing the feelings in their heart, and swearing him to secrecy.

Both were convinced the other had no feelings for them, which frustrated Philip to no end.

It had gotten to the point that Philip had seriously considered locking them in a closet together until they worked it out.

Or perhaps take a less extreme action such as finally snapping in the middle of one of their "I wish I could be with Will/Elizabeth rants" and tell them that "Will/Elizabeth likes you! Now give up the whining or go do something about it, and stop bugging me about it!"

But Philip knew that it wasn't his place to intervene and he had to be thoughtful and empathetic of the duo's feelings and issues.

To be honest, sometimes Philip really hated the cheerful and accepting side of being a man of God. He may believe that everyone had good in them, but that didn't mean he didn't want the occasional break from dealing with the frustrating with the actions of others all the time.

"Hello Will," Philip greeted, coming to a stop in front of his friend. He nodded to the silver candle holder, "Careful, that comes off the wall very easily."

"You sound like you know from experience."

"I will not confess nor deny anything."

Will laughed and took in the sight of his friend, "I wondered if you were going to the ceremony today."

"Oh, yes," Philip awkwardly tugged at his collar, very aware of the fact his shirt alone would cost Will six months of work. "Uncle's dragging me to it. Sure to be a boring affair."

"As boring as it may seem, you're lucky to be invited."

"Standing around for three hours as men wave swords in the hot Caribbean sun, and then having to socialize with people who honestly have nothing interesting to say, isn't what I would call lucky."

"Although Elizabeth rejecting Norrington might be somewhat exciting," Philip mentally added as an afterthought.

"I guess we'll have to agree to disagree." Will glanced down at the sword on Philip's hip and grinned widely, "That's a beautiful sword."

"Gift from my uncle. Made by a master craftsman," Philip winked, knowing that the entire project would have been made by Will alone. "I'll be happy to hear when he makes a name for himself."

"If he does," Will corrected, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. He looked around nervously and lowered his voice, "I don't think Mister Brown is going to be retiring anytime soon, and I don't have the resources to strike out on my own. I think he'll be taking credit for my work for sometime yet."

"Will, you know that if it's an issue of money, I could always-"

"Thank you," Will interrupted. "But I believe a man should provide for himself."

Philip shook his head, "There's nothing wrong with charity, Will. Charity is basically the entire principle I and my parents have based our lives on. And I really have no use for the money myself, so why not?"

Will hesitated, "I'll... I'll think about it."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Ah, Mister Turner!" a voice interrupted.

Will and Philip turned to see Governor Weatherby Swann enter the room. Philip tried not to frown as Will automatically took a step away from him, almost as if Will thought the Governor would believe the close proximity with the blacksmith would infect Philip with poverty or something.

"It's good to see you again," Weatherby greeted the blacksmith's apprentice.

"Good day, Sir," Will placed the box in his arms upon the table. "I have your order."

"Order?" Philip enquired. His banter with Will had made him forget to ask his friend what he was doing there.

"The Commodore's new sword," Weatherby answered. "I only hope it's as beautiful as the sword Mister Brown made for you."

"Actually," Philip said, eyeing Will as a thought crossing his mind. "Will was just telling me how he was the one who made my sword."

Will's arms froze in spot, the words hitting him like a canon shot as the new sword hovered above its case.

"What?" Weatherby scowled, head turning sharply to Will.

Eyes wide and face pale, Will looked downright terrified. The Governor had wished that a Master Blacksmith make his nephew's sword, and now Philip had let the cat out of the bag.

"I think Philip is mistaken," Will hastily tried to cover his tracks. "I was telling him how I helped design it."

"No, you made it," Philip said flatly. "Mister Brown decided to finally let you do your own project, and since you know me so well, he let you do this order."

"Philip-"

"Will, please. You made it; take credit for it."

"Is this true, Mister Turner?" Weatherby asked.

Will swallowed; he couldn't read the look in the Governor's eyes but he was fairly certain Weatherby wasn't about to jump with joy.

"Uh…" Will shot Philip a deadly glare. He then took a deep breath and admitted the truth, "Yes, I made Philip's sword."

To his utter surprise, Weatherby simply laughed.

"Well, you did a very good job, Mister Turner," Weatherby patted Will on the shoulder.

"You're... not mad, Sir?" Will looked at the Governor in utter confusion.

"Well, I would have preferred a Master to complete the order, but look how well it turned out." Weatherby gestured to the sword in Will's hands, "If you keep up the hard work, you might someday be able to make a sword like that."

Philip loudly choked back a snort.

As Weatherby looked upon Philip in confusion at the suppressed grin - his nephew seeming to shake a little with withheld laughter - Philip saw the death glare Will was giving him.

"So," Philip choked out, trying (and failing) not to lose it over the irony of his uncle's words, "Norrington's sword."

"Oh, yes," Weatherby took the sword from Will.

As the young blacksmith began to explain the working of the blade, Philip caught the small looks Will kept shooting him. The message was clear: don't do that again.

And Philip knew he wouldn't, but he had always struggled to see Will never get any credit for his hard work. That someday Will spoke of with such wistfulness was just too far away for it to sit comfortably with Philip.

After Will had done some sort of flip with the new sword, Philip was drawn back into the conversation at the sound of his name.

"Six months," Weatherby said as Philip tuned back in.

Will was busy packing away the new blade, "That's not that far off."

"For what?" Philip asked.

"For when Pastor Thomas will make you a Minister," Weatherby said.

"Oh, right," Philip smiled. "Yes, I only have six months to go, and then I'm off to be a missionary."

Will's heart fell a little at the thought of his friend leaving, "Any idea as to where you'll go?"

"I'm thinking South America," Philip answered. "Although I do want to get to Africa someday. See where my parents spent their lives."

"We'll you'll certainly need that blade then," Will nodded to the sword at Philip's side. "And to know how to use it."

"Philip assures me that he has a teacher in mind," Weatherby said.

"You do?" Will frowned.

Something shifted in the blacksmith's stomach. While making his friend that beautiful sword, Will had always pictured himself being the one to teach Philip how to fight. He didn't like his role of teacher to be usurped by – most likely – some Navy officer Philip had bonded with.

Will shuddered to think that it might be Norrington.

Admittedly, he would be okay if it was Groves.

Not Gillette.

"Oh yes," Philip smiled. "At least I think he'll teach me. He's self-taught, but he practices three hours a day, so I'll go to him if he'll teach me."

"Three hours a day?" Weatherby sounded impressed. "With a man that passionate, I pray that he will indeed be your tutor, Philip."

Will smiled at Philip's hidden request, "I'm sure he will. Though from what I hear, six months might not quite be enough time."

"Well, like it or not, I'm leaving in six months," Philip said. "There's nothing that can stop that fact."

"Then I suppose we'll only see you once or twice a year," a woman's voice drifted down from the top of the stairs.

The three men looked up to see Elizabeth gliding down in a beautiful – yet clearly very tight – dress. Philip couldn't help but see the strained look on her face as she slowly made her way down the steps. The dress was probably latest fashion from London, and Philip had no doubt that she hated it.

"Elizabeth!" Weatherby beamed. "You look stunning!"

Elizabeth smiled at her father, and then noticed that there was three figures at the bottom of the stairs. Philip watched as her eyes set on Will.

"Will!" Her whole face lit up at the sight of the blacksmith's apprentice and she rushed down the stairs. "It's so good to see you!"

Philip looked over at Will who was staring at Elizabeth in speechless adoration. It was times like this that Philip couldn't believe Uncle Weatherby was blind to the feelings of his daughter and the blacksmith.

Something stirred in Philip's chest momentarily. The look of love in the eyes of Will and Elizabeth was so intense. Philip wondered if he would ever find someone to feel that way about.

As she reached the landing and settled next to Philip, Elizabeth didn't even greet her family members. Her mind was focused on nothing but Will, the young man who unknowingly held her heart.

Philip frowned; he knew that despite Elizabeth's heart being set on Will, her father would pressure her into marrying Norrington. Philip would do his best to help be Elizabeth's ally against the potential suitor – as he had for all her suitors – but he couldn't help but wonder if she would still have to strength to refuse when Philip left her behind to be a missionary. The last thing he wanted was to return to Port Royal to find Will's heart broken and Elizabeth trapped in a loveless marriage.

He knew that if he asked, Elizabeth would join him on his trip. Her craving for adventure had not be abated over the years, but Philip also knew that his parents would rise from the dead before Uncle Weatherby consented to Elizabeth joining Philip in South America.

"I promise that I'll return more than once a year," Philip said, trying to distract his uncle who had started to watch Elizabeth carefully. Elizabeth was not very subtle about her joy in seeing Will.

"I dreamt about you last night, Will," Elizabeth said.

Philip jolted, shocked at Elizabeth's blunt frankness. As much as he loved his cousin, he did not want to be in the same room when she was telling someone about the – no doubt – sinful dreams she had about Will. Sinful in the sense that Will was not her husband, but even if he was, Philip still didn't want to hear about those kinds of dreams.

"About me?" Will reacted with surprise, oblivious to the embarrassment radiating off of Weatherby Swann.

Philip raised an eyebrow in surprise. Clearly Weatherby didn't want to hear about those dreams either.

"Um, Elizabeth?" Philip tried to be tactful. "Maybe this isn't a proper subject for present company?"

"Philip is right," Weatherby agreed, sending a thankful look to his nephew for the attempt to save the conversation, "this is hardly appropriate-"

"About the day we met," Elizabeth ignored the men. "Do you remember?"

Wait. What?

"How could I forgot?" Will asked.

"You what?" Philip blurted out, feeling like he had been hit in the stomach. Ignoring the strange look he got from Will, Philip asked his cousin, "You dreamt about the day we met Will?"

Elizabeth scowled at him, "Yes. Why?"

Weatherby's eyes nervous darted between the cousins, "Elizabeth, I think your cousin is suggesting that this topic isn't one we should be discussing."

"Actually," Philip gave his uncle a sympathetic look. He would usually drop something like this, but the fact he and Elizabeth had the same dream was too big to ignore. "I also dreamt about that day last night."

"Really?" Elizabeth asked. For some strange reason Philip couldn't discern, her hand briefly touched top of her ribcage. Her voice was suddenly nervous and she had the same shifty look she had that day, the one that told Philip she was hiding something. "I wonder why might that be?"

"I don't know," Philip said, his voice rank with suspicion. "Do you have any ideas?"

Elizabeth looked anyway, "None."

Philip narrowed his eyes. She was hiding something.

"Well then," Weatherby was desperate to move along the conversation, "It must be something to do with cousins. Something like how twins can understand what the other is thinking."

"Must be," Elizabeth agreed. She smiled and added teasingly, "Unless Will also had the dream."

"Unfortunately not, Miss Swann," Will respectfully bowed his head.

Philip winced, he knew Elizabeth hated when Will called her that.

Elizabeth smiled, "Will, how many times must I ask you to call me Elizabeth?"

Will glanced at the Governor's disapproving expression, and Philip knew this wasn't going to end well.

"At least once more, Miss Swann," Will answered, struggling to keep a smile on his face and the nervousness from his demeanour. "As always."

Philip watched the hurt and disappointment pass over Elizabeth, and he gently touched her arm is a small gesture of comfort. He knew she'd give him an earful later that night.

Maybe it was time to clear out a closet.

"There, see," Weatherby said, a touch of annoyance infecting his voice. "At least the boy has a sense of propriety."

At her father's words, Elizabeth felt the rage and embarrassment bubble up. How could Will treat Philip as openly close as a brother, and yet turn around and act as if she was royalty and he some common peasant? And to do it in front of her father too?

Elizabeth had always struggled with dealings in propriety, and the Lord knew that despite Philip's best efforts, he was no help in that regard with his schoolboy adoration and obsessed focus on God. Philip telling her what was and wasn't sinful, didn't relate well in the categorization of what was accepted in society. For although she may not go to Hell over table manners, she would get a sound lecture from her father about it.

Will was even worse, and for all she adored about him, there were times she wished Will would say to hell with propriety and do what he wanted to. Even if it was something as simple as just calling her Elizabeth.

"Now, we really must be going," Weatherby took the sword case from the table, and Elizabeth could see Will knew he had messed up.

Good.

As Weatherby began to exit the foyer, Elizabeth straightened her back and put on the mask of stiff formality she hated so much. It was worth it though. Will needed to know how much he upset her.

"Good day, Mr. Turner," Elizabeth said simply.

"Come along," Weatherby ordered.

Elizabeth held out her arm for Philip to take, and her cousin looked awkwardly between the Will and Elizabeth.

"You go ahead," Philip urged. "I'll be a minute."

Without a second glance, Elizabeth strode out of the house. Will made a move to follow the group, but Philip gently grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Next time, just compromise and call her Miss Elizabeth," Philip advised. "Or at the very least, stop addressing me by my given name in front of my family."

Will dumbly nodded, and Philip took it as his signal to exit. He patted Will's arm and raced forward to join his family.

As Elizabeth saw her cousin catch up to the group, she heard Will call back, "Good day."

It was only once they were settled in the carriage, about to set off that she swore him say it.

"Elizabeth."

A small smile graced her features as the carriage set off towards James Norrington's promotion ceremony.

As they rolled along in the carriage, Philip and Elizabeth dreading the afternoon before them, both cousins prayed for the same thing.

Please let something exciting happen at the ceremony.

At that exact moment, a pirate by the name of Captain Jack Sparrow caught sight of Port Royal.