The Best-Laid Plans

by etsfanfics

Pre-DMC courtship of Elizabeth and Will. After Will and Elizabeth free Jack from the gallows, the couple battles with class differences, political intrigue and an entire smithy of swords, as they set out together to explore the expanding boundaries of their relationship and build their dreams for a shared future of new adventures.

9. Swords, Swords, Swords

Elizabeth's pace was brisk, and Estrella hustled by her mistress' side as she inquired in befuddlement, "You wish to be introduced to a… laundress, miss?"

"A future neighbor. Of course I wish to be introduced!" Elizabeth corrected.

It was late morning by the time Elizabeth set out into the low noises of town. While she'd had trouble falling asleep after all the excitement of the prior evening, she had managed to capture a drift into deep slumber eventually. As a result, she had awoken several hours past dawn. And although initially disappointed, she had to admit that her later rising allowed everyone who had been prematurely stirred by her the day before an opportunity to make up their sleep as well.

Will had taken the day off, as they had originally agreed, but strangely he was nowhere to be found—not at the forge, not at his home. So, following Mister Brown's advice, the two ladies had begun a walk down the street towards a neighbor, who ran a business out of her home and with whom Estrella fortunately had a passing acquaintance.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to further elaborate her thoughts to Estrella, but another, singular sound came out instead: "Oh!"

Perhaps there'd be no introduction to this neighbor after all: for there was Will, walking back towards them with a rucksack tossed over one shoulder. He seemed to spot them nearly at the same time as Elizabeth had seen him. As he blinked in confused, amused surprise, Elizabeth felt her face split into a wide grin. He answered it with his own, and she barely resisted the urge to break into sprint—they had so much to look forward to today in particular.

Eventually, they met. Elizabeth stopped herself a discreet distance from her suitor and gave him a coy turn of her head as he looked her up and down, taking in her less conventional dress.

"Fancy meeting you here," she joked.

"I'd say so if it were actually a coincidence," Will responded, then reached for her with his unoccupied fingers, so that they might begin their walk back to the smithy scandalously hand-in-hand. The gesture made her almost wish to skip instead of walk—she might have, if she wasn't strapped into some clogs. "Am I terribly late? I didn't hear the church bell."

Estrella scoffed from Elizabeth's other side. "She practically ran a hole in the courtyard with her pacing for the carriage."

Will cast Elizabeth a satirically smug look, and she felt her face flush.

"I was trying to be considerate in waiting!" she attempted to insist in return, although she knew it was a weak argument. "However, I will admit I may be a bit impatient when it comes to seeing you—in truth, I'm afraid I always will be."

Her companion cocked an eyebrow and flexed his fingers around hers for more playful ribbing. "Seeing me or my arms?"

She flashed her teeth in a tickled expression of excitement towards his hint at their morning's plans. Today they would play at swords—only this time it would be real, with proper blades and an experienced guide to show her along the way to mastery. However, it occurred to her that the word he chose, arms, provided opportunity for many meanings: he obviously meant his swords, but he could have just as well been joking about his embrace.

"All three," Elizabeth teased back as she freed her hand from his and hooked herself to him near his elbow, physically latching onto one of the possible meanings.

While he shook his head, she took advantage of the new position to press her cheek to his shoulder and gaze upon his fetching face.

He looked well, rested, which was a relief. The night before with her father had ended somewhat bittersweet. While negotiations had proceeded far more smoothly following their agreed-upon compromise, the elder man had been admittedly less warm towards Will up until their partings. He had laid before them several expectations for their courtship that were rather less than thrilling:

In addition to the anticipated requirement of a chaperone in their presence at all times, Will was also expected to join the governor twice a week for dress fittings, lessons on etiquette and other 'refinements' to his demeanor and presentation. He was to make a greater effort to maintain a more genteel appearance, including shaving the goatee from his face—although to Elizabeth's pleasure, he seemed to be postponing that measure for the moment. He was to begin better acquainting and ingratiating himself with higher ranked guilds members and merchants, at the very least. And he was to begin building his savings in earnest.

Initially, this had all seemed mostly fair to Elizabeth, if a little burdensome. And Will had agreed to it. Yet she couldn't pretend she hadn't noticed the way his jaw had tensed as he did so, signaling that perhaps it was not so easy for him as she had assumed.

Observing him now revealed no such tension in any part of his expression. In fact, he seemed genuinely happy. And having no desire to disrupt his contentment, she chose to add the matter to her growing list of topics she wished to address with him when they finally got another moment truly alone together—whenever that would be. She let her eyes drift to take in the thick shade of the lashes which hooded his eyes in the times he gazed at her through their moments of quiet; the dark bits of beard she could practically feel against her skin just by looking; the gentle slope of his lips and chin…

She remembered the other reason she'd had trouble sleeping the night before, and her mouth tugged itself to one side in a smirk as she leaned into Will.

"Although I must confess it's likely been your mouth I've missed most these past few hours," she spoke low into his ear.

He halted their walk and withdrew his shoulder and arm from her in his turn to face her, a merry light shimmering in his eyes.

"Allow me to amend that for you," he muttered, cupping her head with one hand as he stepped into her arms' reach. Gently he guided her face in an upward tip towards a meeting with his own. She closed her eyes as she felt his breath brush across her lips.

Then his wet, open mouth was suddenly upon her cheek, and with a deep breath he blew hard against her skin to let out a loud, 'Pppppppppppppppppppppp!' in the middle of the street.

"Will, what the devil?!" Elizabeth squealed as she shoved him away from her.

She heard Estrella tut an impatient, "Alright…" behind her as she ran the back of one hand across her cheek to dry it of his mischief. That had been most indiscreet—it had certainly drawn at least one or two pairs of eyes in their direction—but she couldn't suppress the rippling giggles of her surprise, especially not while Will himself was snickering as well.

What had gotten into him?

"I'm sorry—was that not what you were thinking of?" he asked in a pretense of confused concern.

"Oh, I'll show you what I was thinking of," she practically snarled as she made a grab for the front of his waistcoat.

"Miss—" Estrella called in a warning voice.

Will took a step back to avoid Elizabeth's capturing hand, although there was still a playfulness about him as he did so. "No, you need to answer my question. Otherwise I might disappoint you again in the future."

Elizabeth pouted, "You're disappointing me now. Come here!"

She reached for him a second time, this time aiming for his wrists.

"That's enough, please! We're in the middle of the street, not the garden!" Estrella cried with a surprising volume.

The call halted Elizabeth in her tracks, causing her to look at her maid in some astonishment. Estrella appeared to feel immediately self-conscious over her outburst, shifting her eyes about as though wary of the other eyes round about them.

Estrella sighed, lifted her chin, then continued more gently, "I consider myself very indulgent, but I must insist on some boundaries—if only for my own sake. I've already been censured once, thanks to word about your casualness at the beach finally making its way back to your father yesterday. He's made it very clear that I am not to be so warned again."

Elizabeth felt a tiny, sickly feeling squirm about her gut for a moment—guilt, perhaps. Reflexively, she chanced a glance at Will and caught sight of a remorseful expression not unlike what she felt.

"My apologies, Miss Trattles," he said softly. "I overlooked your position and was careless."

Elizabeth nodded quietly in agreement.

She realized she had begun to ignore the way that the blame for her increasingly emboldened behavior could be traced back to others than herself. It was something she'd known could happen, had even acknowledged it openly. But it was something from which she had also asserted she could and would protect Estrella. And yet she had done nothing, instead assuming she could wait for the moment to simply disappear.

It had been long enough since their aforementioned afternoon of publicly displayed affection, an intimacy in a place almost exclusive to Will's class of people, that she had begun to believe there really had been no chatter that would make it back to her father in any meaningful way. But apparently it had, and evidently Estrella was the one facing the consequences for it—although Elizabeth suspected Will would receive a lecture of his own when they returned to the mansion for the afternoon.

As would she—but what was a paltry lecture from a father to a daughter compared to a rebuke from one's employer or the holder of one's future in his hands?

She pressed her lips together in a firm line. This chaperone issue was becoming a pain in the ass before anything had even properly started. She would have to speak to her father alone, again.

However, it was clear that for the time being she and Will would need to behave themselves for Estrella's sake—at least while out on the streets. After all, in addition to the risk to her employment, her maid truly was an indulgent minder, tolerating much of their affection behind closed doors which other chaperones would balk at. Elizabeth wasn't willing to lose the privilege of Estrella's lenience to her father's stricture, especially when her romance had only just begun.

"We can do better," she conceded. "For now, let's get inside."

They closed the remaining distance to the smithy without another word.

---

Will slowly examined Elizabeth's appearance, not quite able to resist the quirk of obvious delectation that bent his mouth in sharp contrast with the puzzlement bending into his brow.

She pressed her lips together in a barely-suppressed laugh. "Enjoying the view, now?"

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head at her in what was meant to be an obviously jesting glare. As ever and always, she was striking beyond words to his eyes. However, today he wasn't simply ogling her for his pleasure—although it would be a lie to say he didn't enjoy doing so in something of a bonus.

He couldn't claim to be any sort of expert about women's fashion. He remembered the basic pieces that built an average outfit from various memories of his mother dressing for work near the crack of dawn. But the stylistic differences between the various pieces Elizabeth and other women donned, if any, were something of a mystery to him. Aside from a few specific patterns and, though it was somewhat indelicate to admit, the different cuts in her necklines and sleeves, if he were asked to recall any specifics of her many petticoats and jackets, he'd mostly be at a loss.

However, today she wore something obviously different, and he was taking stock of her outfit's functionality instead of its aesthetics. Or trying to. And it was with this in mind he scrutinized the cut of her cloth. She seemed to have dressed as mindful of their activity as she could manage: however many skirts she'd worn appeared much plainer than usual and were worn higher today, with her hems lifted to be near her ankles in an effort to offer better clearance from the ground, similar many of the working women around town. And he could see that her shoes were more hardy than her usual silk slippers.

For her upper body, she explained how she'd cleverly chosen a maritime-influenced riding jacket to wear in place of her sleeker bodices. While it mimicked of the cuts of men's suits, it was still shaped with her body and tastes in mind. As such, while the sleeves were cuffed, they ended 3/4 of the way down, granting her the cooling freedom of her bared forearms. And while the front was lined by buttoned lapels like a great coat, the jacket fastened together well under her sternum, creating a delightfully deep V that he assumed was meant to be dressed by a cravat, but currently, understandably exposed some of her décolletage to the open air. As if that wasn't enough, she had donned a gold chain, hanging it from her neck and hiding the trinket kept at its end within the appealing pocket of her cleavage. For a moment he forgot why he'd started looking at her to begin with, or why he needed bother look...

She was smirking again.

Why was he…? Oh! Yes. The, uh… functionality of her dress. Not aesthetics.

'Focus, Will. You're not a bloody animal.'

He closed his eyes, let out a tense breath, and tried to reset his thoughts. Once he managed to turn his eyes back over her jacket to focus on the details of its performance, he realized the sleeves it sported were more masculine and loose, which would no doubt would give her shoulders and arms better freedom of movement. And since it was tailored to her, there wasn't much risk of it being oversized, catching on things or prompting distracting fiddling. All in all, it was a smart dress in every sense of the word, and he assumed she could perform well in it if she chose to do so.

However, all night he'd had trapped in his mind her refusal to join him in the canopy of her garden's cottonwood tree on account of her skirts, leaving him feeling a little uncertain. And in the weeks that had passed recently, he often remembered the moment she had appeared out of that black and blue night to save his life from Black Pearl's crew, how fantastically she had fought alongside him in her borrowed marine's kit. As such…

"I might have a gift for you," he announced.

Her eyes lit up wide in a bright instance of anticipation. But comically, when he lowered his rucksack of laundry upon Mister Brown's dining table and reached into it, her expression fell like a stone dropped down a well of disappointment.

"No, not a sword... yet," he answered pointedly, and not without some laughter.

Elizabeth pouted openly at him, yet wandered to join him at the table with obvious curiosity all the same.

He shook his head as he withdrew and laid out three different pieces of clothing—breeches all, grey, brown and green. As she touched the twill of one her eyes lit back up, in recognition this time, and she pinned him with an inquiring expression.

"For me?" she asked.

"Perhaps," he replied, reaching to feel the waistband of the grey piece. "I bargained with Missus Hackley to sort through a few pieces of abandoned laundry she still had her hands on. My choices were limited, and I'm afraid I'm not familiar enough with your… form to know whether any of these would be suitable for you. But they're clean and currently unclaimed—"

Evidently his excuses didn't matter much to Elizabeth, as she had already excitedly gathered up the three garments and shut herself up in his room to try them on. Mister Brown, who had been quietly cleaning the room's hearth, let out a coughing laugh. Exchanging an amused look with Miss Trattles earned Will a simple, tired shrug.

It was quite clear there would be no time wasted for them today.

---

Will's surprise gift was welcome. Elizabeth had chosen her outfit carefully, selecting her most airy riding gear and bedecking her chest with little more besides her pendant watch, with a mind of avoiding stuffy, sweaty discomforts, and rewarding—or perhaps torturing—her tutor with a distracting little view as a treat for his services. However, that decision came only after testing her jacket and petticoats' performance with her arms swinging and legs stomping about before a shadow opponent. As a result, she had full confidence her outfit wouldn't affect her movement in the slightest, nor would her movement result in any embarrassing accidents.

But she knew from the few relevant pamphlets she had gotten her hands on that good form was as important to real fencing as it was to dancing. As such, it would likely be far more advantageous for both herself and her teacher if he could properly see her legs as they trained—regardless of how improper it would be considered by outsiders. Fortunately, after only a few stitches to better cinch its waist above her hips, it turned out that the grey pair of trousers fit Elizabeth quite nicely. And before long, she, Estrella and Will were out the door to begin her first lesson… but not before selecting a sword for her practice.

She could hardly stand the excitement, slipping into the shade of the smithy the moment Will lifted the latch and cracked the door open.

It could almost be considered cool, most likely thanks to the forge having gone unlit for the day. Well, that and the fact that the weather in Port Royal was proving mild and pleasant for the first time in a while. If it were any other day, Elizabeth would have pressed for a walk along the harbor, but this time the room's dusty dimness was far from discouraging. After all, Will had achieved a mastery in his swordsmithing not just on raw talent alone, but through years of repetitious practice. As a result, all about them the shafts of light cutting through the rafters bounced off hilts of polished brass, made steel edges shine and iron pommels glisten. There must have been over half a dozen of his arms in this room alone, all made by his skillful hands.

And soon they would all belong to her too. The thought drew a simper across her face. What an utterly fantastic sight!

When she turned her face to Will with wide, eager eyes, he threw his head back and laughed. While it did not embarrass her in the slightest, it did stretch her already thin patience. She wanted her sword, dammit!

"Alright, come on, you," he said. Then he hopped off the landing to ground level, turned, and extended his hand for her to hold as she followed his path to the workshop's floor.

As soon as her feet were planted, Will reached back to help Estrella's descent. But without hesitation, Elizabeth turned towards the nearest wooden post to her right, drawing from its mount the first weapon she could reach, with a flourish. The sword's blade rang musically as she held it out. It was straight and narrow but thick, with virtually no cutting edge below its foible. The unpolished D-guard was attached to a rounded pommel and a slim clamshell quillon, perched upon a pair of strategic finger loops. Notably light and likely speedy, it was a smallsword meant almost entirely for stabbing. Something about it seemed a little familiar, but she couldn't quite place why.

"That's a sharp one that is, miss," Estrella noted as she walked further into the shop and took her first proper look around.

Elizabeth nodded in agreement.

"Ah, funny you should pick that one," Will commented as he came to Elizabeth's side and laid a light hand upon the small of her back. It sent a delicious jolt up her spine. "That is a prototype of the sword currently on the hunt for a certain errant sparrow."

She blinked at him. Well, that was an unexpected connection.

"Prototype…?" she asked.

Besides the quality of the craftsmanship, Elizabeth hadn't expected there to be such a thing—somehow she'd always assumed that Will either got things right or wrong as he went, and left it at that. But it had been an important commission, so now she felt a little foolish for assuming something so simple of the process. She turned the sword about in her hand once more, eying its details under a new light. No wonder it seemed to stand out compared to its neighbors. To her eyes, it looked like once it was polished it would be without flaw. The grip was wrapped in a plainer material than the final product likely was, but other than that…

He nodded.

"I'd wanted the work I presented to your father to be perfect. And originally, making more than one offered a justification that I could sell this copy to a different officer off the merits of the commodore's, but…" he paused with a wry smile, "… after everything that had happened, something about it didn't feel right anymore."

"So it won't belong to anyone," she deduced.

"Perhaps not. Although, it could belong to you, if you want it." His teasing tone seeming to imply he believed she'd been indirectly requesting it to begin with.

Lifting the potential gift aloft in the nearest shaft of light for better admiration, Elizabeth admitted, "It is beautiful…" Then she stepped back towards the post mount and slid the sword back into its former place. "But it isn't very piratey, is it? Besides… isn't the only thing that one is good for is piercing men through their hearts? Seems a little on the nose, considering the circumstances."

Will shrugged with a skeptical expression. "I wouldn't underestimate the damage one can cause, piercing other parts of the body as well. But it's not a cutter, no, and if that doesn't suit your tastes then… point taken."

"Ha!" she barked at his accidental pun, then began looking over other blades nearby, cognizant of the way his eyes followed her with a sort of keen interest. Whether for her opinion or the cut of her trousers or a mix of the two, she couldn't be sure. "Perhaps Estrella would like it?"

"Lord, no!" her maid gasped from where she had wandered in the center of the room, counting the hammers hanging from the bellow's enormous spur wheel looming over their heads. "I could never justify the costs of a thing like that!"

A shrug was Elizabeth's only reply, because her attention had already returned to picking out a weapon she would most like to claim for herself. As she looked the swords over, she ran her fingers along the pommels in another mounting rack. Most of the swords were extremely plain, but many were polished and shone like stars. Eventually, she plucked up a tidy looking hanger with a nearly-solid basket hilt, and felt her lips form a little 'o' of surprise as she gave it a swing. While the sword wasn't cumbersome, the difference in weight between it and the small sword was noticeable, carrying into a surprising momentum when she chopped the air before her.

"Do you like that one?" Will asked, a vibrant eagerness lifting his voice as he walked back to her side with a sword of his own in each hand.

"I think so…?" Elizabeth gave the air a few more slashes. "It feels good to swing about."

Deciding to get a little bolder, she cut an arc through the air as she pivoted around—

Tchng!

Unexpectedly, her swash was buckled by a swift, sturdy parry from Will, jolting her with more than one shock running through her arm and chest. Somehow, she had already overlooked the way she'd heard him coming up behind her, and hadn't realized he would be standing in her blade's path.

"Careful! I do sharpen all of these. And even if I didn't, they can still hurt something fierce with a proper blow," he warned in a gentle but stern voice. "Rule number one when handling any sword anywhere: the blade is always sharp, even when you think it is not. And for the second rule: always be mindful of your surroundings."

A rush of heat burned behind her neck and ears as she withdrew her blade from him and nodded, drawing her bottom lip to worry between her teeth.

As he saw her face fall, her companion made a little clicking sound of pity with his tongue.

"Don't fret, Elizabeth. I was partly at fault as well—I should have kept my distance or been clearer about where I intended to stand. But nothing happened, and we can go forward more clearly and cautiously from this moment on."

She dropped her eyes to the ground.

While she knew she should be mollified by his reassurance and sharing of the blame, the heat of her shame lingered a little even as she nodded again in agreement. In fact, she avoided looking at Estrella altogether in embarrassment from her gaff. And annoyingly, her shame only made her feel more foolish. He was right, wasn't he? It was only a little lapse in judgement, one without injury.

But she couldn't help feeling suddenly shaken at how much worse it could have been, so out of the blue. What if she had struck his neck or injured his arm enough to halt his work? Or worse? In these tropics, even a small cut could fester in just the wrong circumstances. It was a stunning reminder that the item in her hand was a true, honed weapon, not a toy or a defense improvised from more benign objects—and her dueling opponent for the foreseeable future, the person who she could very easily wound, would not be an enemy but a man she trusted and loved. The thought didn't put her off their endeavor—she'd always known there was a little danger to what they were up to. Honestly, the danger contributed a great deal to its appeal. And Will had little qualms about it.

But her excitement had sobered somewhat at that final thought of the literal and figurative positions he would place himself when he purposefully stood before the point or edge of her untrained sword. In a very real way, he would be placing the health and safety of his body in her hands, as she would entrust her body in his.

How could she overlook such a thing, like they were still children at play?

"I'm sorry, Will," she whispered.

His brow furrowed, then he shook his head and extended an arm. "Come here."

Elizabeth listened and stepped into Will's space, allowing him to wrap his extended arm around her shoulders in a somewhat awkward embrace—after all, both of his hands and one of hers were still clutching their swords.

"Teaching you is why I've invited you here, isn't it?" he asked in a muffled rumble against her ear, which had managed to have its shell folded over in its press against his neck. "Now you know one more thing than you did before."

When he pressed a kiss to her crown, she let her eyes flutter shut, nodding one last time. Curiously, while his words had had reason, it was the reassuring warmth of Will's body safely pressed against hers that seemed to be the secret required to melt the last of her misgivings away. He was well—all was well, and so it would continue to be.

"And now I know not to come near either of you while you're holding one of those things!" Estrella cut back in. "You really mean to come at each other brandishing those? I'd almost rather you go after each other in a good, old fashioned pully hawly like normal love birds, instead of this. People die dueling, you know!"

Elizabeth let loose a little laugh.

"Are you making an offer to facilitate our congress, Estrella?" she inquired, as she withdrew from Will.

Her maid shook her head. "I said I'd almost rather it—there's a key difference."

"Well, we're not trying to kill each other, like other duelists—I believe that also is a key difference."

Estrella appeared unconvinced. In response, Will tore his eyes from Elizabeth in order to spend a moment assuaging her maid's concerns about their safety, ushering her to the safety of the alcove harboring his workbench. All the while, Elizabeth looked back down at the sword in her hands, thoughtfully.

Eventually, her tutor made his way back to her. And seeming satisfied that the tension of the moment was passing, Will held out the hanger in his left hand for her to take—one with a more cage-like design to its guard, compared to the one in her hands.

"Trade me for this one. I want to see what you think of it."

A few more minutes were spent testing the feel of a handful of swords Will presented for Elizabeth's assessment, focusing on their hilts. When he wasn't watching her with an intent eye, he offered explanations and reminders for her to consider. After all, there was much she knew about the swords' blades already—certainly enough to carry on conversation with Will about them. She knew a hanger from a spadroon, and understood the advantages and disadvantages between a curved backsword versus a straight one. But somehow certain technical details about the hilts had never caught her attention before now—only their artistry.

For example, the "piratey" hanger she had chosen was comparatively heavy, as she had noticed, in large part thanks to the almost-complete shielding of its basket. In contrast, the hanger he presented her had a more decorative "woven" basket, which was still heavier than the smallsword, but also noticeably lighter compared to the completely solid cup.

"Every sword's advantage comes with a drawback in some form, even in their hilts—you have to find a match that suits you," his commentary came while he cradled her fingers around the grip and guided her arm to lift the hanger to the level of both their eyes. "The shielding of the first one would give you the advantage of near total protection for your hand. And utilizing its weight enables you to make deeper, deadlier blows… But a heavy guard will also slow you down and fatigue you more rapidly."

He paused, drawing her curiosity and his eyes into a brief entanglement across the top of her shoulder. His fingers traced hers for a moment, sending a pleasant thrill up her arm, until he tore his gaze away and lifted his fingers to brush the lines of the sword's hilt instead of her hand.

"The hilt you hold offers something of a compromise by being lighter: you still have much of the same protection for your fingers," he continued before taking a step away, "alongside the benefit of improved maneuverability and stamina."

Pushing aside the tiny feeling of disappointment over his resumed distance, Elizabeth mulled over Will's words, eyes lingering upon the gentle curves of the hanger's basket. These were concerns of a practicality she hadn't considered before—all she'd ever thought of was how deadly a blade looked, how thorough the defense of its hilt, why some shone while others did not. Now, Will was asking her to swing the sword about as he stood to the side and watched her movements like a judge. And while she tried to make Estrella and him laugh by performing characters as she did so, he still advised her to pay attention to whether she or the sword felt more in control of its motion, and with which balance of power she felt the most in harmony.

With his first hanger, she pretended to be a drunken Sparrow, noticing the way this marginally lighter sword still seemed insistent on carrying itself through every sweep of the air as far as it could go. When Will gave her a spadroon with a fixed guard, she became a menacing Barbossa, with easy, wide slashes and swift pivots. With another hanger bearing a typical D-guard, she put on a debonair imitation of Will himself, feeling the satisfying arc of its blade leveraged with a sharp agility the first hangers did not have. At last, he brought to her the ceremonial smallsword once more, pointing out the usefulness of the finger loops for perching her index finger to secure a protective, sturdier grip. Here, she became an elegant Commodore, with the sword so light it practically whistled through the air like a magic wand, swishing and piercing wherever she asked with stunning precision.

When she looked back to Will, having been satisfied with her tests, Estrella was clapping and he was rubbing the hair upon his chin thoughtfully, eyes shimmering in a charmed, humorous light.

"What?" she inquired of him, wondering at the thoughts in his mind and whether she had been successful in entertaining him or merely made herself appear a fool.

"Nothing," he answered, dropping his hand with the shake of his head. "Just a memory. Then I couldn't help thinking how much I love the way you are. That's all."

She felt her cheeks begin to glow. And for a moment an intensity crept into his eyes that captivated her, called to her.

But Will pressed on before she could take time to feel much else, pointing at the sword dangling from her fingers. "I take it it's still a 'no' on that one, then?"

Elizabeth blinked at the quick change of topic. "Oh! Ah… no. It is wonderful, truly Will, I just… It doesn't seem me, if that makes any sense at all."

Almost cautiously, she held the sword out for Will's re-acceptance, somewhat fretful that her denial of it would seem like a rejection of the passion he clearly poured into its crafting. Fortunately, the expression that warmed his face spoke otherwise, and he accepted the return of the blade graciously.

"Of course it does," he chirped, and slipped the piece back into its display facing the door.

But that still left Elizabeth Swann without a sword to call her own.

Almost as though he could read her mind, Will reassured her as he returned to her side, "It's alright if you're not so sure of which option is best for you yet. You will learn what you like as you practice, and you may even change your mind a few times or find you like several equally."

He looped his hand around her back, and walked with her to the forge's hearth, where they'd laid out the other four swords for Elizabeth's consideration. While his words didn't help her narrow her choice down, it still offered comfort by lessening the gravity of her decision. She wrapped her own arm behind Will as well, and laid her head upon his shoulder, suddenly realizing how even just those few minutes of playful exercise had begun to wear her right arm.

'I'm not so weak as that, am I? On the island, I swung that staff around like a Valkyrie for heaven knows how long…' she thought to herself. To which the other half of her mind reminded her how she'd taken over an officer's cabin aboard the Dauntless, and laid in bed for nearly a day and a half from how sore and exhausted the frantic events of her adventure had left her. There was no threat of death hanging over her head now to push her past her limits…

"Which style do you prefer, Mister Turner?" Estrella asked him from her seat at his workbench.

Elizabeth turned her head to read his face as he answered—it was a good question. Will's tactics had a clean but innovative explosiveness she'd come to admire. If her approach mirrored his in any capacity, she would consider herself more than accomplished with a blade.

"Mm…" he thought aloud. "When I'd only just started, I favored the power and protection of a hanger with a full basket. But as I've honed my techniques, I've come to favor a simpler guard for its flexibility."

Drawing the insides of her cheeks between her teeth in a thoughtful motion, Elizabeth considered eliminating basket hilted blades. She understood what Will meant, remembering how they both had seemed to pull her hand more than she pulled them. And with how her arm was beginning to tire, perhaps the heavier swords were not the best choices until she'd built up more strength and endurance. So that left the spadroon and the hanger with the D-guard—both of which she'd found extremely satisfying to handle.

She felt Will dip his mouth beside her ear, tickling her skin with his mustache as he pointed to the hanger and breathed conspiratorially, "This one transforms into your cutlass once you take it sea."

There was another rushing wave of heat that spread through her, but this one was one that she relished. The grin that crawled across her face was slow but steady, and she met the mischief in his eyes with a spark in her own.

"Well, that settles it, doesn't it?"

---

They'd taken more time than Will had expected in selecting Elizabeth's sword—it must have been an hour altogether. But once she had, she was beaming like the sun reflecting off the western horizon, and he knew it was well worth it. He had given the sword to her—her very first! Not to borrow, not to present to her father—to keep for herself. The joy on her face filled his heart to bursting. Which was made all the better with the fortunate circumstance that, to help make it official, he unveiled one last surprise he'd assembled from a box kept under the workbench: a proper sword-knot, fashioned from beautifully braided goldenrod twine.

Miss Trattles gasped and "ooh"ed on behalf of her mistress, and Elizabeth's eyes practically sparkled at the sight of the accessory.

To make a show of the moment, Will positioned himself with heels together in a somewhat gentlemanly position, and waved the sword-knot once in the air like a flag. "I hereby declare this sword the property of one Lady Elizabeth Swann—"

"I'm not a properly titled lady, Will," Elizabeth hissed through her giggles.

Not wanting to miss a beat, again he waved the ornament in the air. "I hereby declare this sword the property of future-Captain Elizabeth Swann, swordmaster extraordinaire to-be and secret pirate of the Caribbean!"

He knelt in front of Elizabeth, with the formality of a knight before his queen. He wasn't quite sure why he was doing it, and from Elizabeth's delightfully bemused expression neither was she, but it seemed like the right thing to do in a formal ceremony, which this now apparently was. And as Will looped and tightened the twine around her sword's knuckle guard, Elizabeth continued to snicker and grin. When he finished, he took her hand affectionately and placed a single, lingering kiss to her soft skin. Her fingers tightened around his, calling his eyes upward.

"Thank you, Will," she whispered with great emotion.

His heart stirring, he smiled softly up at her in return. With so much she had given him and so little he could give in return, to him every opportunity to provide the spark that kindled her happiness was priceless.

Miss Trattles, who seemed to have become invested in their goings on today, stood and clapped enthusiastically. "Congratulations, Miss Future-Captain Swann!"

Elizabeth shook her head, the whites of her teeth still displaying her laughter. Her slightly bemused expression in place once again, she cast her eyes back to Will. "Future Captain of what, exactly?"

Raising himself back to his feet and brushing himself off from the dirt, Will frowned at her, albeit in a lighthearted manner. "I thought we'd agreed that after a home our first major married purchase was to be our own little ship?"

"Oh, well, of course!" she replied brightly. "But if that is your point of reference, I think we need to amend your declaration once more: it's future-Captain Elizabeth Turner, thank you very, much!"

He waved his hand at her in a playful motion of dismissal, although the sound of her voice unwaveringly claiming his name left a happy chord echoing in his ears and heart. Despite the pleasure in their diversion, they were starting to get off-topic. Afternoon was very nearly upon them, and they were running out of time for her first lesson.

"Alright, alright. Whatever name it is you prefer, I dub thee," he lightly tapped each of her shoulders in a gentle chopping motion meant to imitate a knighting ceremony, "true owner of this fine hanger, heretofore withal or what have you."

"Here-here!" Miss Trattles cheered, clapped, then made to sit back down upon the workbench's little stool. "Now on with the main event, please!"

Elizabeth bowed, curtsied, then bowed once more.

Once she was done, Will extended an open hand in her direction. "Actually, I hate to ask it of you so soon, Future-Captain Elizabeth Turner, but may I borrow your sword for a moment?"

Flashing him another grin, she held her piece out for him to take. "Why, yes, Future-Co-Captain Will Turner, you may borrow my sword for a moment."

He dipped his head in a polite show of gratitude, lifting the piece from her hand. In a jesting tone, he declared to the room, "Now, I must ask you ladies to pray for my soul, for I am about to commit a grievous sin." When Elizabeth looked a little alarmed in addition to being confused, he added more soberly, "With your permission, Elizabeth, I would like to purposefully dull your blade, to avoid serious accidents until you have developed an instinct for the more basic precautions of swordplay. It is not what is usually done—but your father would never forgive me if either of us were to become involved in a preventably grievous accident… and to be honest neither would I."

"No!" she gasped with wide eyes, reaching both hands out for her sword as though he were confiscating it from her for good. And for a moment, he frowned—he hadn't expected her to protest his decision, especially after their close call an hour before. But within half a moment, she curled both her hands to her chest, amending, "That is… may I do it, instead?"

His confusion and frown was quickly inverted. Clearly it had taken no time at all for her to bond with her gift. Giving the sword's protective owner the courtesy of a little bow, he gestured grandiosely with an open palm towards the corner with the grindstone.

"By all means…"

A few more minutes passed with Will briefly demonstrating how the grindstone worked, along with the proper technique for evenly wearing her sword's edge down and rounding off its tip without taking it too far. Although tentative at first, especially when the harsh scraping sound visibly set her and Miss Trattles' teeth on edge and a few sparks unintentionally flew, she eventually set to the task with relish. And it wasn't long at all before Will was buffing the blade and verifying the dullness of its edge. It did have one subtle dip in a spot near the ricasso, but that could be corrected when it was sharpened anew. Besides, the little flaw was a show of Elizabeth's hand now permanently worked into its being—and for whatever reason, eying the tiny bend made Will's heart swell with pride.

"Is it over at last?" Miss Trattles called from her corner, her hands still pressed over her ears. The noise wasn't overly loud, but it could be grating for some like her.

Will affirmed with a nod. Then he turned back to Elizabeth and held her sword out for her to reclaim, which she accepted happily.

"You're a natural!" he cheered her. "A finer first grind there's never been!"

At first, Elizabeth opened her mouth with an apparent intent to say thank you, until suddenly she paused with the beginning of the phrase still caught with her tongue between her teeth. He thought he glimpsed an impish flicker in her eyes for a moment, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"Thank you," came her response anyway. Then in a low voice meant to be kept from her maid's ears, she continued, "but don't you think you could manage an even finer first grind, given the opportunity?"

He felt his lips part in surprise and the entirety of his head and shoulders enflame. While a part of him couldn't help thinking it was his own fault for settling on the casual phrasing he had, he still couldn't help wondering: where the hell did that innuendo come from? Either his captivating visitor had decided on her own that every one of their meetings from now on would start with a new round of their tortuous kissing game, or exposure to swords and their play made her very happy. Possibly both.

Unbidden, the undiscussed words of her letter appeared in his mind, this time accompanied by the imagined sound of her current low timbre purring them into his ear, and a shiver ran through him. He had hoped that they would have gotten the chance to discuss that final point of her letter by now, as it had left unanswered in his mind the largest questions in his mind about what the love between them was meant to be. But here she was, suddenly titillating him with thoughts of their bodies in a very different place and position and…

He swallowed. Perhaps it wasn't only a drunken confession?

He was halfway to opening his mouth to taunt her into enlightening him with her real meaning—an attempt to dare her to double-down on what he assumed she was actually saying or to dismiss his suspicions and make him appear like a wanton fool. But there was Miss Trattles not three yards from them, whose scrutinizing ears and eyes made the back of his neck prickle in a far less pleasant way, despite her accommodating disposition. He knew she wasn't hellbent on regulating all their speech or behavior with each other in private, and therefore would likely not listen if they dropped their voices low enough for a moment of truer privacy. But even so, something about discussing such intimate things for the first time under a watchful eye felt strange and uncomfortable.

It would have to wait a little longer.

So he too changed his course—attempting to hint he heard her while drawing them back to a less sensual place for the moment. Still, he couldn't resist the temptation to lean into her and press his cheek to hers as he laid one hand upon her shoulder and breathed into her ear.

"Your close attention will be rewarded in the future, I can promise. In the meantime, I'll show more about maintaining this, and you'll match me at it in no time. Remember though:" he guided their topic back to the weaponry around them with a firm voice, stepping away from the warmth of her body, "this is only a temporary measure, and you are not to depend upon the sword's dullness at any time. Not only can damage still be done with a blunt blade, the last thing we want is you becoming comfortable with grips or motions that could injure without intent when you change your piece. All swords are always sharp in your mind, even this one. You understand?"

Elizabeth nodded while smiling and leaning upon her sword's hilt like a cane.

"Great!" Will responded with a clap of his hands. "Now… are you ready to put that blade to good use at last?"

"Only all morning!" she declared and scrambled to her feet.

With a grin he looked up at the rafters. Although he could not see the sky properly through its wooden slats to provide a guess at the day's hour, the angle and color at which the sun's light shone gave him a general idea. Unfortunately, he needed something more specific today, and Mister Brown was typically the one who kept time of the clock in the smithy, when they had appointments. The other option was to wait for the church bell or to poke his head into the shop two doors down…

Sighing, he turned back in Elizabeth's direction. "You wouldn't happen to have brought a watch, Elizabeth?"

She narrowed her eyes in an unhappy glare. "Are you delaying now to annoy me?"

"No, I am not!" he denied with an incredulous laugh. "I simply wish to keep track of how close we are coming to your father's appointment."

With her eyes still squinting to signal the unconvinced state of her mind, she hooked her left thumb under the chain about her neck, then with a little tug withdrew from between her breasts the charm at its end: a gold pendant watch. She let the timepiece fall back to rest on her bosom, cradled atop her white smickett peeking between the lapels of her riding jacket.

"Come and see, then," she dared him with the lift of an eyebrow.

Heat flared back across his face and neck, and he mirrored her look back at her. Why did she seem so intent on riling him up right now, especially while complaining about delaying their lesson? She obviously wanted to spar, but then she started acting like… like this and… It was like yesterday, in her chamber and under her cottonwood tree all over again. She obviously wanted to play with him. But he was beginning to lose sense of which way she wanted to play, what they'd actually come here for. And the longer he waited to respond to her, the more perilous the situation became. Even now, she was idly running her fingers up and down along the delicate, glittering chain of her timepiece, tilting her head in that way that made his heart and tongue stumble over themselves like they had each become too distracted to behave their duties normally.

He blinked and shook his head. Yesterday was yesterday, today was today. They didn't have time for sensual sports—she wanted to go to swords, that's what she would get. That's why they were here, after all: swords! Swords, swords, swords!

Swords.

After prying his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he turned his eyes back to her, loosened his throat with a swallow, and finally managed to respond, "I wasn't aware we'd begun our little game again."

"Oh, is that what you think this is?" Elizabeth guffawed, baffling him all the more. She leveled her blade at him. "Have you not considered this could be a lighthearted form of retribution for similarly dangling my desires in front of my nose, only to continually find yet another reason to put off—"

"Alright, alright! I get it! I understand!" he pressed back at her, earning him a satisfied smirk. God, she had a strange way of going after what she wanted. Swords it really would be. He walked to the forge where he had laid aside his own simple hanger—freshly made and not yet sharpened. "Just tell me the time and we'll begin."

Maddeningly, she said nothing. And when he turned to inquire after her, she shook her head and hooked her arms behind her back.

"No, you come here and read it. Now that I've thought about it, I still want my revenge: tits for tat."

Miss Trattles snorted loudly.

Though his jaw clenched, a smile slipped upon his lips for a moment at her bawdy little joke. No matter what she said, this very much was a continuation of their game from yesterday. Cat and mouse, that's what this was. She was toying with him and enjoying the sight of him fluster and squirm. But he wasn't about to let her win over him for a second day in a row.

Elizabeth tipped her head to one side with an expression both inquisitive and taunting. "Are you frightened of my body, Mister Turner? If so, that may prove a problem for us."

Ha! If there was anything to be frightened of when it came to her body, it was of his rapidly flourishing lust for it and everything else about her. Forget what was wrong with her—what was wrong with him? It wasn't as though he was above feelings or thoughts of carnality. He was human, after all, and prone to looking twice every now and then when a comely figure caught his eye, in the times when he'd believed Elizabeth could never be his. But ever since she'd taunted him over it yesterday, he could hardly keep his eyes from wandering all over her. It certainly wasn't helped by seeing her in that damned jacket. While it was inspired by menswear, it was quite unlike the red marine coat she'd donned to come to his rescue on the island. Most notably in the fact that this jacket was normally worn with skirts, meaning it had no goddamn tails and left her lower half on an admirable display from every single angle. The amount of effort it had taken to remain objective before, watching her move about before for his amusement and assessment, was almost embarrassing. Attraction was too soft a word for the pull he felt to her.

Frightened of her body…

Will let a puff of air out of his nose and shook his head. "I can assure you with a full voice that I absolutely am not. I merely now feel the need to resist you on principle."

Her pout was what he expected. Instead, a simper was what she gave him, broad and puckish. "So maybe our game ought to be afoot again?"

His heartbeat was starting to race, and he realized it was from the thrill of remembering the way they'd kissed yesterday following his concession.

Outwardly, he narrowed his eyes at her. "Now who's the one delaying our lesson?"

"You," she answered without missing a beat, stroking the chain to her pendant a few more times. "Come check the time, Will."

For a moment his eyes could only follow the mesmerizing movement of her fingers sliding up and down the necklace, drawn by the way the shadows of the movement curved across her softly lit skin. At the same time, his mind still lingered over the velvet touch and sweet taste of her lips and tongue, the honey-soft scent of her hair and skin…

Fine. Fine! Elizabeth Swann could have it her way for this one, final thing. But for certain this was the last time today. Next the real battle would begin, and today he was really, truly determined not to lose. Not this time.

So it was, Will closed the distance between them with a handful of quick, long strides, stopping close enough that their noses were nearly brushing. The tops of her cheeks were rounded like apples from the way her lips pouted and curved into a pert, challenging smirk. And with her hand dropped back to her side and her chin lifted, she made it very clear that she would not lift one finger to assist his reading of the timepiece laying gently atop her shift. This was the game she wished to play—to make him look or touch near a place that was still a little new to them both and a little scandalous.

He could act boldly to shake her expectations, but there were parts of him that were very much still discerning what sorts of things she liked from him, about him—and he still felt that ignorance put him at a disadvantage. He knew he wore his heart on his sleeve. And she was so witty and vivacious and sharp and beautiful, it was obvious what attracted him to her: everything, absolutely everything. But as for what she saw in him?

Well, he'd had his turn as a pirate, which it turned out counted for quite a lot. He knew she liked when he stood for his beliefs, especially in the face of power—that perhaps counted for even more. He often found her gazing at his face or running her fingers through his hair.

And god help him, Elizabeth liked to be touched. Loved it, in fact. Which suited him just fine, as he found he was quickly becoming addicted to touching her anywhere, anytime she approved.

So not to be outdone by her ploy, he reached up where the necklace disappeared under the collar of her jacket, at the top of her shoulder, and slipped two fingers beneath it. At first he took his time rubbing the fine links between his fingers and thumb. Then he looked her in the eyes and in a carefully slow motion, slid his fingers down along the chain, watching the subtle, secret changes in behind her eyes as he lightly grazed the skin of her chest and right breast. As he did so, he tried to pointedly ignore the shifted intake of her breath, the way her lips had parted and her chin lifted towards him ever so slightly. Eventually his hand arrived at the resting place of the pendant, where he let his fingers run along the seam of her smock's neckline on their final approach, until he took the watch up, and lifted it to his face to read.

"Fifteen 'til one. We have an hour and a half to spare." Casually, he let the watch fall back against her body, then gave her what he hoped was an annoyingly professional smile with his eyes trained on hers. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she chimed back, and he wondered whether he'd caught a temporary hitch in her voice or had simply imagined it.

Her eyes were shining and dark all at once, like coals burnt low shimmering under the cloak of night, and while he felt he ought to step away from her once again, he found he could not will himself to move. The corners of her lips twitched for a moment, before Elizabeth committed to another curve to her smile.

"Shall I insist you put it back where it belongs like the tidy fellow I know you are, or shall I extend you mercy?"

How was there still more heat left to surge through his body? His face, his neck, his back, even his fingers were practically burning at her suggestive invitations, the discovery that she should want his hands on her, more and more intimately. At this point, he felt she might as well go ahead and set him afire then be done with the experience, before the heat was running down, where he wasn't quite ready for it—certainly not with Miss Trattles observing from her corner.

It was with that thought that Will hooked his hands behind his back, saying, "You're beginning to make me wonder whether you come for fencing or flirting?"

"Both, of course," she responded easily, and reached up to brush her fingers over his lips, making him feel almost dizzy. "You haven't forgotten I'm a greedy woman, have you?"

"Hm," was all he could say, mind spinning, heart throbbing and a body almost itching to draw her against him.

So he kissed her. With his free hand slipping about her waist, he pulled her close and kissed her softly and deep. After the gasp of her initial surprise had died, after she began to respond with a more demanding vigor, he gathered himself enough to draw his lips away. When she leaned after him, he lifted his chin and kept his mouth from her reach. Then he looked her in the eyes again.

"Put your things away yourself," he said in a voice he hoped was more steady in its teasing than the feeble way he really felt.

The consternation in her expression confirmed it mostly was, and after amassing the remainder of his willpower, he released Elizabeth at last. With a head held high Will turned on his heels and walked to the center of the room, resisting the unspoken call to return to her, kicking up small clouds of dust as he went, and feeling the ardor that had plagued gently trickling away.

"Now for today," he called with a tight voice, cleared his throat, then resumed, "I just want to see what you already know—what habits you've built, if any. So do your best to strike me with the flat of your blade, and I'll do my best to defend."

He lifted his hanger on his guard to signal his readiness.

But Elizabeth's face had twisted with bewilderment as she tucked her watch away. "You want me to come after you? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

She looked towards Miss Trattles, sharing a moment in their surprised confusion as Elizabeth walked past her to join him in the center of the room.

"What are the rules?" her voice inquired with an almost suspicious tone.

Did she think he was laying a trap for her? He dropped his guard and shook his head.

"No rules today," he assured. Then, remembering the determined ways she'd tried to test her boundaries in their kissing game yesterday, he adjusted. "Well… besides the obvious. I want a chance to see more of the way you think in a real scrap, so I'd prefer not to over regulate things. Let's endeavor not to injure each other, of course. But fight me seriously, all the same. And actually, I do want you to only use your sword as your weapon today. We can play with other tactics and weapons in the future."

After a moment appearing thoughtful, she nodded her head. Nodding back his confirmation, Will rose his guard and settled back into a ready stance.

"A prize," Elizabeth declared suddenly. "I want a prize if I can best you."

Of course she did. How could he have overlooked it? She never began a contest without stakes or promise of reward at the end.

Still, he cocked an eyebrow at her and bantered, "Is not the chance to hold a victory over my head prize enough?"

With a smirk, she sauntered across the floor as she spoke to him. She wasn't walking in any particularly special way. Still he found as she closed the distance between them back up that his eyes began to wander over her again, and it felt as though she was bringing with her the fire he'd tried to leave behind.

"I believe we just established that I am a greedy woman—so no. I want more."

"So I see." Will carefully dropped his guard another time, then looked his partner in the eye. "And what prize does your heart desire, exactly?"

There was a dangerous flicker in Elizabeth's eyes, as she stood before him once again, laid her hand upon his chest and answered with bated breath. "I want… I want you to kiss me so thoroughly it leaves me breathless. Truly, utterly breathless."

As his blood began to burn again and his heart skipped about, he let out a whisper of a laugh.

"And what sort of incentive is that for me to keep you at bay? With a prize like that, I'd have more than half a mind to let you win."

Half-quoting his own words back at him, the sparkle of her eyes and teeth colored her repartee, "Is not the chance to empower me to better defend my own life prize enough?"

Together they laughed, knowing full well the answer without it having to be said. She charmed him effortlessly, and he laid his hand with tender affection over hers atop his chest.

"Very much so," Will said. "But perhaps I would like to also be a greedy man today."

This stretched her lips into a broadened grin. "And what prize does your heart desire?"

His answer took no thought at all, as his heart had been begging him to heed its call the entire afternoon.

"To touch my lips to a different part of you at the end of every bout," was his answer, and he lifted her hand to brush the tips of her fingers to his kiss for an indulgent demonstration. When she said and did nothing in return, he paused. "Unless, of course, you do not approve."

"Oh, I approve," she returned readily.

That should have been all they needed to settle the matter. But a thought came to him, which seemed to come to her at the exact same time, and together they turned their expectant eyes upon their briefly-forgotten minder. There Miss Trattles still sat upon the stool in her assigned nook, with her chin propped upon her hand as though she had been happily watching a play.

She blinked, almost surprised they expected her blessing, before stammering, "Just… don't get carried away. Please."

When Will faced Elizabeth again, their matching smiles reflected the eager edge for their competition.

"Then on your guard."

---

Elizabeth's body was abuzz with no less than three kinds of anticipation as she settled in her place before Will, feet planted firmly to ground. Immediately Will's eyes began to dart up and down her body, already taking obvious mental notes about her posture. With a deep breath, she studied his stance as well. While she paused for a moment to admire happily that he'd unbuttoned his shirt collar and exposed his chest for their activity, she was also reminded to turn her shoulders and face him more truly sideways. A little smile quirked his lips as she did so. She would take every little cue she could to refine her abilities, even before he'd begun his formal tutelage. This was an assessment as well as a contest, after all. And as much as she wanted to impress him, she wanted more. She wanted to experience another moment where she blew Will Turner away.

She wanted to win.

But she hadn't sparred with Will or anyone in over six years. For a moment she found herself hesitating over her opening move. Even on her recent adventure, she hadn't managed to get a hold of a sword to fight with. Besides her time with a musket aboard the Interceptor, all her weapons had been items weaponized from their original purpose. Yet despite this lapse in her experience, she could see Will was different now—not a child mimicking what he could glean from observing officers anymore, but a well-practiced swordsman with experience in competition and battle. Meanwhile, she remained a novice. One able to envision and muck together a fight when needed, yes, but lacking experience all the same.

The only way to change that was to take the plunge and begin.

Launching herself in Will's direction, Elizabeth took two sideways swings at him, right then left, utterly unsurprised when they were each met with the little tchnks of his effortless parries. She grinned in spite of herself. Her heart was already pounding with exhilaration even though they had only just begun. He was quick—much quicker than she remembered from their childhood, where she recalled herself being the better between the two of them.

With his dark, sharp eyes sparkling over smile-creased cheeks, he lay in wait for her next move. "Ready when you are."

She narrowed her eyes and took a breath, trying to steel herself against the flutter his smile and pose set off in her stomach. Besting him in speed would be tricky as it was. However, she felt there was a chance she could tangle him up all the same, provided she played her cards right.

Starting now!

She came at him again with a big initial swing, prompting a surprised noise from Estrella. She was trying to build enough momentum to create a swift and irregular pattern of attack on her opponent: left, right, left, left, top, left, right, right, left. He parried each and every move with an ease and precision that became more and more frustrating… And although she leaned a little side-to-side, trying to find a winning angle, she could already feel how she was gradually becoming slower.

Just as Elizabeth was beginning to mentally scramble for a different way to take Will off-guard, with a prompt twirl and flick of his wrist, she felt the hilt of her sword suddenly twist from her fingers and flip away until it fell with a clatter to the ground.

"Oh!" Estrella cried in time with Elizabeth's own squeak of surprise.

Then for several seconds, the only sounds that followed were the noises of the town outside the smithy's walls.

The dust around her weapon hovered, catching the sunlight in a way that left it almost glowing. It had happened so fast, Elizabeth could hardly register what it was Will had done exactly, and she found herself looking from her disarmed hanger, to her empty hand, then back to him in something of a stupor. What just happened…?

After several seconds of inaction except for the confused and aggravated flexing of her fingers, Will's eyebrows knit themselves together in an expression of concern. "Are you alright?"

With a blink, the wheels driving Elizabeth's thoughts began turning again, and her shock gave way to the aftermath that follows surprise.

"Will Turner, you didn't say anything about disarming me!" she shouted in accusation, surprised that she was already a little breathy. Now that her head was clearing, she also realized her heart was definitely beating at a quickened clip. How? They had only just begun.

He frowned as he walked to retrieve her sword. Nestling his toe underneath her hanger's ricasso, with a lifting sort of kick he brought up his knee and launched the sword upward to catch its hilt in his waiting right hand. She raised her eyebrows at his showy little trick. How many times had he practiced that to get it right?

"I did say we were to treat this as a serious fight…" Will responded thoughtfully, then turned to face her with an earnest expression. "In a real skirmish, I'd either kill, injure, or disarm you, as you would me. I thought you'd understand that, considering what we'd been through on the island."

He thought…? Elizabeth frowned as one of her deepest annoyances with Will finally showed itself again, and she cast her eyes to the side.

"Forgive me for saying so, Will, but you do that far too often…"

When he didn't say anything in response, she looked back at him to find a look of alarm had crossed his face, and Elizabeth almost laughed at the way his eyes were darting about in a visibly frantic pattern of confused, personal review over his behavior. After several moments of reflection, his eyes refocused on her with an almost mournful look in them.

"I… I'm sorry, Elizabeth, I don't know what you…?"

Her annoyance abated somewhat as she felt a rise in sympathy. The world her father had brought her up in had demanded so much time and money training her up to properly associate with people. There was something of an art to reading the moods and thoughts of another person—one that had taken years for her to develop. And whether it were through the way she'd had to perform drills for her diction, or the longer, more nebulous mastery of buttering up her father's guests for improved receptiveness to his negotiations, the pitfalls of misunderstanding were made clear to her from such a young age it practically felt like common knowledge.

Will, on the other hand, had always been rough around his edges when it came to such things, to put it gently. He was capable of being polite when it suited him, certainly, but his more natural approach was often sloppy and shortsighted. And while she couldn't figure out exactly why it was he seemed bent on trying to magically discern her thoughts and feelings, she had a suspicion a life lived somewhat alone and without political demands may have had something to do with it. Regardless of the causes, it was clear from the wide-eyed look that would appear upon his face in response to her displeasure, that he only ever meant to do right by her. And to be fair to him, every time she'd indicated his fallacies, he'd always been apologetic and eager to adjust.

Perhaps she simply needed to be clearer herself…

Elizabeth looked at Will with more patient eyes. "When you said you wanted to see what I was capable of, I actually thought that meant that I would be the one attacking, while you would merely defend. I think… it would be better for us both if you verified that we understand your instructions in the same light before we practice."

Comprehension began to dawn on Will's face like a young sunrise.

"I didn't want to make you feel foolish," he answered in earnest.

"You won't. Not unless you treat me like a child," she proclaimed. "Asking me whether I understand you isn't an insult, Will. It's just… well, understanding."

He nodded, a clear feeling of relief passing over him. "I'll try to be clearer going forward."

"Good," she said, grateful to have come to a peaceful resolution… and somewhat surprised by the tangent they had taken. Why had that even come out of her, anyhow? It was a frustration of hers that had been sitting on her heart for a long time, certainly, but she hadn't thought about it at all since the day of Jack's rescue.

Her eyes fell upon her hanger, still sitting in Will's hand, and she felt her cheeks grow a little warm. He was trying to teach her. They'd come here to fight with swords, not with words. Perhaps she ought to get them back on track.

So she raised her chin towards him defiantly, indicating with her eyes to her sword as she declared, "In any case, I'll have you know that I could have held out longer… Your strike took me by surprise, that's all."

He looked down at his hand as though he'd forgotten what he was holding, then smiled a little.

"You were doing very well! I only struck out when I did because I felt you were ready."

At that point, Will turned her sword around, holding it by the backside of its blade in order to present her hilt for her to take, an apologetic turn tugging on the right side of his mouth.

"Yes, Miss Swann!" Estrella called her agreement. "I'm so impressed! That was incredible!"

Though Elizabeth accepted her hilt back into the clasp of her fingers, she couldn't resist a little pout at Will nor a shake of her head towards Estrella. They needn't worry themselves with buttering her up—she wasn't one to abandon things she'd set her mind to. Especially when she wanted to be here. Even with her swift defeat, her arms were humming from the excitement of their engagement… She simply disliked being bested so easily. However, having already endured over four years of tutoring in everything from posture to pianoforte, she was prepared to face a little bruising to her ego.

But she would still pout about it along the way.

Seeming to see through her surliness, Will offered her another crooked grin. Then he sidled a little closer to her, to speak in a lower, more conspiratorial voice that sparked a pleasant prickle along the nape of her neck, prompting the spread of her pout into a private grin.

"Now, I believe that was the end of our first bout. And we did come to a certain agreement, if you are still willing…?"

He tucked his sword under his arm, then held out his palm in a wordless request that Elizabeth share her hand with him.

For a moment, she merely leveled at him a playful glare, fighting with the curve of her mouth in an attempt to help herself appear more convincing. She was admitting her defeat after all, something she did not enjoy doing. In spite of that, her loss came with a gain which she couldn't deny she anticipated with glee. In fact, a part of her wondered whether Will's counter-requested prize had been purely selfishness on his part, or whether he'd secretly intended for it to double as a consolation prize for her, to keep her spirits up.

After he quirked an eyebrow, giving her one last chance to consent or object to their agreement, she realized she'd been frozen in place. So she finally dismissed her show of pride and placed her fingers in his, willing and ready for his first kiss across the back of her hand. Yet for a moment longer, Will merely looked at her with eyes alight over their quiet, shared pleasure. And Elizabeth found herself wondering if he too was thinking about how singular this moment felt. For the longest time, it was only in her dreams she had dared to believe she might come across Will Turner in his smithy, bent on stealing a kiss or three—and even her dreams hadn't considered the possibility of sparring together at the same time. But this wasn't a dream… it was real.

Her happy musings were invigorated when he unexpectedly guided her in turning her hand palm up. Instead of beginning their fighting session with a gentleman's kiss to her knuckles, he ran a thumb along the scar that cut across her skin. With a shudder, she remembered how fiercely it had stung for days following the very moment she had been wounded. It was a cut that nearly ended her life if not for him, a cut meant for the bearer of his name, and a cut he had tenderly dressed in the wake of her rescue. He had nearly kissed her then…

How fitting it was that Will should choose the place of that former cut to first reverently press his lips, with his fingers knit between hers. His touch was slow and sweet, and for a moment their eyes locked across her cradled hands in an unspoken, mutual memory of that moment with the kiss that had not been yet they had both so clearly wanted.

The sounds of the world fell away. His name was on her lips and tongue, and she could feel herself leaning into him measure by measure.

Until he'd withdrawn himself, leaving her blinking and overtly frustrated in his absence.

She opened her mouth to protest his leaving, but he'd already taken his sword back up and settled himself into a ready stance for their next round. Now they had switched places, him in the middle in the room, she near the door.

"Continue to continue," Will instructed with a pointed smirk.

Elizabeth gaped at him before beginning to quietly seethe with her lower teeth bared upon a jutted jaw. The nerve of him! He was trying to turn the tables on her from yesterday—to make her feel weak and wanting at the sight of him and goad her on! It was an attack on two fronts at once.

No, no, no, she would not have this. No. No-no. No! She would have him before this was over, one way or the other! He would see—she was just rusty and warming up, but she would have him.

Clamping her teeth together and squaring her shoulders perpendicular to her opponent, she held her sword at the ready. However, before she could strike out, her eyes once again flitted of their own accord over his lithe body and the pretty picture of near-perfection his posture made. This time, the sound of Violet's randy chortle came to her mind unbidden, and apparently losing grip on her impulses, Elizabeth found herself gawping at the shapely tautness of his thighs and forelegs. She felt her face flush feverously as she considered the way he almost seemed coiled like a spring, ready to burst forward with—

Oh…! Oh!

She felt the intensity of the heat grow and spread from her face down her neck, as a realization struck her over what it was her friends would fuss about—albeit for a somewhat different reason. With great effort, the mental specter conjuring Violet's jeering was pushed aside long enough to think clearly again, and Elizabeth brought to mind more relevant thoughts instead.

There was a reason for him appearing that way.

She remembered the many duels and fencing practices she'd spectated between the officers at the fort, or past days glimpsing Will sparring and wrestling with friends in the town square. In each case, the contenders would skip and shuffle about, sometimes even leaping to gain an edge in their contests—often to great effect. She remembered reading a little bit about it as well: whether it was in friendly matches and footraces, or deadly duels and battles, an outcome could be heavily influenced by individuals with quick and strong legs able to hustle with speed and power.

Will was standing that way, because he was ready to pounce or retreat at a moment's notice.

Meanwhile, looking at her own stance and reflecting over their first bout, Elizabeth realized that even though he had not yet moved, she had been so focused on breaking her blade through Will's vexatiously robust defense that she had overlooked her feet entirely. In fact, she had kept her feet quite firmly planted to the ground once she'd approached him.

Clearly, that would not do. So looking back at his body with a technical eye, she widened the placement of her feet and crouched in calculated mimicry.

Will's face split into a bright grin.

"Keep that up and you'll eclipse me before the sun sets," he teased his praise.

It was a silly compliment, but she felt a rush of pride over her perceptiveness all the same, a heady sensation mixing dangerously with the other high feelings already coursing through her blood.

Riding the high, she snapped forward and swatted at Will's shoulder then thigh in two quick strokes, which he deflected. Determined not to be deterred, she arced her blade overhead to try and cut at him from his back.

"I thought it was typical to heckle one's opponent, not applaud them," she commented as she moved.

Will caught her cut with a simple turn of his wrist.

"Sometimes it's the one…" he answered, immediately striking out in a small lunge that forced her to stumble backwards with a little whoop of surprise from her and Estrella, "… sometimes the other."

Once Elizabeth regained her footing, she saw that Will had already returned to his guard—clearly choosing not to advance from his spot just yet, probably for her benefit. With a strong huff of determination, she charged forward again, sword drawn over her head as she attempted to bring her blade straight down on him with all her strength. He parried, as she expected, so she dropped her knees to the ground with a painful slap. She heard Estrella's gasp, but she swung as hard as she could for Will's left flank.

After a stern shake of his head, his left hand darted out, and Elizabeth felt his fingers clamp about her wrist, halting her sword arm entirely with his strong grip. She felt a light tap against her undefended neck with his blunted edge, and her stomach fell as an addition to her discomforts—her plan had left her with a grave opening in her defenses.

"Fuck…" she groaned, and she dropped her head in resignation towards her lingering but fading pain.

Rather than indulge in his swift victory, Will squatted before Elizabeth, using his sword like a cane for stability while he moved his left hand to gently touch her right knee. The brush of Estrella's petticoats at Elizabeth's back indicated they'd been joined by her maid as well.

"That didn't sound good…" Will muttered. "Can you move?"

Elizabeth grimaced a little as she unfolded her legs before her. Both knees were stinging and throbbing alongside an unpleasant "rushing" sensation at the top of her shins, but there was no additional pain from her movements that seemed to indicate she had broken anything.

"Yes," she hissed, "although I can already tell I've likely earned myself a gaudy pair of bruises come tomorrow."

"I bet you have," Will almost laughed through his sympathetic wincing. "You dropped yourself like a stone—I'd wager half the block heard the clap."

"May I look, Miss?" Estrella asked in an anxious voice.

After a nod, Elizabeth joined Estrella in unbuttoning and pushing aside her stockings as well as the legs of her trousers, to expose the area around her knee for a brief inspection. There were no scratches or cuts. Prodding revealed no further injury. In fact, while she was still a little sore, the majority of her pain had already faded away. So the three agreed with Elizabeth's assessment that she'd wake up with some tender, purple decoration upon her legs in the morning but otherwise none the worse for the wear.

Without warning, Will's hand fell back upon her knee in a gesture of relief. With the commotion and pain of her injury now mostly gone, his touch sent a pleasant jolt through Elizabeth, even though it was through the knit of her cotton stockings. It called to mind the way his fingers had wandered along that very same leg the prior morning; the intensity in his eyes as he had done so; the way she immediately, inexplicably, inappropriately thought about how delicious it might be for him to peel her stocking away entirely and run his hands over her bare skin, looking at her like...

She blushed at herself. What was wrong with her lately? Here she was, sitting in the dirt, having just smashed her legs in a tussle—fighting with swords, something she had been looking forward to for half her life!—and already she was back on track towards erotic fantasizing over how to get more of Will's touch. She ought to slap herself or bang her knees up again! Even right now, as she tried to push her titillating thoughts aside, she couldn't resist entertaining the silly idea of him punctuating the end of their bout with his kiss pressed upon her battered knee.

Perhaps she could pursue the suggestio… Ah! No. No! That was quite enough! They came here for swords! Swords swords swords! Swords.

Fortunately, this time neither he nor Estrella seemed to notice the intimacy of his hand's placement, nor the effect it was having upon her. Instead, he casually withdrew his hand and looked at her with a fresh coat of humor painted over his features. All the while, Estrella began securing her trouser legs, ranting about Elizabeth's recklessness and what the governor would think if she'd come home with his daughter's knees shattered only a few hours after promising to keep a closer watch over her. Feeling somewhat guilty and in need of her own distraction, Elizabeth reached out to help fasten the buttons of her other leg as she listened to Estrella's berating.

Once their chaperone seemed satisfied she'd said enough, she wiped her hands on her apron and returned to her perch by the workbench, almost as though nothing notable had happened.

Will raised an eyebrow, cocked his head to one side and stood. Then he offered his hand to Elizabeth, joking, "Well, if there's one thing I cannot say, it's that you didn't take either of us by surprise."

A wry laugh bubbled up from her belly as Elizabeth finished fastening her last button and accepted his hand-up. The jolt came back, this time coursing up her arm through the touch of his skin across her palm.

"Not that it amounted to anything," she grunted with teeth grit against the renewed aches the movement brought, the renewed urges his touch fanned up. Once on her feet, she let her hand remain in his for a moment longer than it was needed.

Perhaps he would kiss her now? He'd said he would after every bout…

His lips tugged themselves to one side.

"Not really, no. Except for maybe an important lesson:" he began in a cautiously deliberate tone, "regardless of how you land, I would strongly advise against lowering yourself to the ground as a battle tactic. It opens far too many opportunities for serious injury."

This time Elizabeth let out an unladylike chortle, gesturing back down towards her legs in a grand flourish. "Clearly."

Pulling a face, she finally removed her hand from his and began to brusquely dust off her backside. Will's smile became soft, almost sentimental. When she shot him a confused look, he shrugged to one side, offering no explanation. Her stomach began to feel like it was aflutter again, and she shook her head to herself.

Would he kiss her now? It would be far from unwelcome. And after he did, she would fight him, win, and claim her own prize from him...

"Are you certain you would like to continue now?" he asked. "Or should we call it a day?"

Her movements halted and she pinned him with an incredulous stare. That was neither a kiss or the beginning of their next round. In fact:

"That was only our second bout! Of course I want to continue!"

Will flashed his hands up in a defensive position.

"Alright, I was only verifying. Let's see if we can continue without further interruptions—time waits for neither of us. However, if the pain lingers, please do not push yourself over it."

With her breath held carefully in her chest, she cast expectant eyes upon Will and nodded.

Yet while Elizabeth decided to agree outwardly… internally, secretly she decided to herself that she absolutely would push past any pain as much as she could. It was only a little aching, after all, and she refused to be seen as a delicate silk-wrapped flower. If Will could work for hours everyday, even with a cut hand, she could push through with a little bruising on her first day.

Seeming satisfied with her nonverbal answer, Will popped his chin in the direction of the room's center. "On your guard, then."

Elizabeth pouted, unwilling to conceal the disappointment that crept through her. What about her consolation—er, that is, his prize? Had he forgotten their terms, or was he pointedly ignoring them?

Will frowned, obviously confused by her overt displeasure.

And for a long moment they simply stared at each other, passing no word or sign to cross their impasse… until they both tried to speak at once:

"Would you like to try defen—?" Will began, but stopped short as Elizabeth asked more loudly, "Are you not intent on claiming your prize?"

Surprise blinked anew in Will's eyes, followed quickly by a subtle wince dressed up in his smile. "It didn't feel right, considering the circumstances."

Elizabeth felt annoyance and appreciation in confusingly equal measures. He hadn't forgotten their terms; he was in fact ignoring them. And all because he was trying to think of her again, assuming he knew what she wanted again, seeking to do right by her again… without asking her what it was she felt. Yes, he'd checked if she was ready for a fight, but he had utterly overlooked her readiness for his affection.

She puffed out her chest and stepped within his reach with a pointed look.

"And once again, I find myself wondering," she retorted, "why you did not ask me my opinion on the matter? You seemed plenty happy to check if I was willing and able to handle additional sparring. If my pain has abated enough for a duel, one would think my pain has abated enough to offer you a part of me for a simple kiss."

Will dropped his gaze with a sudden, sober weight. "I am not interested in imposing my desires over your discomfort, Elizabeth."

His words were quiet but their meaning was loud.

'So ask me how I feel and I will tell you, you silly man,' she could not help thinking, endeared by his unselfish intentions and frustrated by his independent action. There were so many imagined discomforts and pains to conjure up… How could he ever know what her pains really were without affording himself additional chances to hear her express them? What was this strange fixation he had with silent observance?

Soon her hand was upon his chest, seeking out his attention.

"I have no remaining pain to account for any longer," Elizabeth declared, happily winning back the sight of his eyes once more. "But now I find that I am left with an agreement I wish to fulfill, and yet cannot. Would you leave me so callously in breach of our contract, against my will?"

Perhaps it was an imprudent thing to say, considering her reputation for keeping her word these days. Yet the warmth of his smile crept back into the space between them, and Will reached out to cup her face in his hand.

"How remiss of me," he muttered, making her heart twirl about in glee. "Where shall I kiss you this time?"

'Anywhere. Everywhere,' Elizabeth thought, finding she very much enjoyed the unpredictable element that this little prize of his afforded.

"That's for you to decide, isn't it?" she whispered.

However, she also found her instincts betraying herself, as she unintentionally parted and tipped her mouth towards his, her fingers curling into the fabric of his waistcoat. Her eyes had already slipped shut. She felt the breath of his laugh, the tingling closeness of his lips drawing near enough to finally brush hers…

Then Will placed the softest kiss to the tip of her nose, and stepped out of her reach altogether.

Instantly, her eyes flew back open, just in time to catch a brief, irritating smirk upon his face as he walked back towards the smithy's main door, switching their places once more. How was it possible to be so tantalized and disappointed all at once? Sucking her cheeks between her teeth, she shook her head at him and considered coming at him while his back was still turned. He had said no rules after all. But her sense of decency won out… barely. And she afforded him the time to take position and raise his guard.

Her smile returned. If she wanted more, she had to fight him for it.

She liked this game much more than yesterday's.

Briefly she eyed Will one more time and reconsidered her tactics. From his last two ripostes she could take a hint, whether he had given it intentionally or not: slashing wasn't the only method of attack. And coming at Will head-on with such standard moves wouldn't get her anywhere. Perhaps sliding to her knees hadn't been the right move, but she had a feeling that she was getting closer to being on the right track by finding something else creative to try…

So Elizabeth sprung forward, first trying to lure Will into a rhythm by imitating her fist attack on him, swinging and chopping from left, right, right, left, left, right, like ticks of a metronome. Again, he met each blow with his blade's forte, embracing the pace she set with eyes flitting over her in patient observation—and possibly preparing to throw another surprise into her flow.

Until she paused for half a second.

When she swung at him from above in her syncopated beat, his eyebrows rose and lips parted in a delighted laugh. Although he parried her still, this time his motion was more frantic and her blade met his nearer its foible, grinding down toward its hilt as he stepped into his riposte and pushed her backwards.

However, she'd planned for the likelihood that he would rebuff her. She stumbled, yes, but she held onto her blade and regained her footing quickly, eyes flashing fiercely with a competitive appetite. Will cocked an interested eyebrow, and kept his sword at the ready.

Then, as unexpectedly as she could manage, Elizabeth attempted a long and determined lunge.

Will simply stepped aside, smirking.

Before Elizabeth could stop herself, she'd stabbed her sword at the smithy's main landing with a sharp clang! that ricocheted up her arm. Her step had been deep and wide, her knees screamed in a fresh flash of pain for it, and she was forced to throw her hands out to stop herself from losing balance as she tried to turn to clumsily regain her footing once more.

But it wasn't fast enough. All the still-standing and ready Will had to do was reach out to tap his sword to her extended arms, and it was clear how he would have won that bout. She had accidentally presented herself to him for an easy victory once more.

While she could hear Estrella clapping and praising her attempt, Elizabeth threw her head back as she let herself fall on her ass and groaned, "Goddammit!"

She felt like a child with how easy she was making this for him. All he was doing was sitting, waiting for her opening, and tapping her with barely any effort at all. Surely, she had to be better than this!

Will didn't seem quite so disappointed with her, however. In fact, he was beaming almost excitedly as he extended her another hand to help her back to her feet, and the brilliance of his smile and the warmth of his touch made her stomach do new, happy somersaults.

"Did you already know what a tempo change is or did you just think to try that on your own?" he asked.

Her heart sank for a moment, as she realized her clever moment of creativity naturally already had a name. A tempo change, was it? Elizabeth dusted her buttocks off again as she considered it.

"Now that you say the name, I believe I have read about it before. But it wasn't what I was thinking of when I tried it, no."

He nodded, and in his smile it was clear he was rather impressed—although she couldn't figure out for the life of her why it was. It seemed an easy enough concept to stumble upon, after all. Even so, it was gratifying to see pride in his eyes, and she reveled in the way it acted as a balm over her limping pride. And as she replayed the moment of her pause, recalling the surprised flash that had flit across his face, she realized that she was somewhere on the right track to catching him unawares at last…

With a blink back to the present, she lifted her chin in a challenge, signaling she was ready to offer him his latest prize as well as their next bout.

"Again!" Elizabeth insisted.

With a twinkle in his eyes, Will cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and she shivered as he took his time letting his eyes rove over her face in search of his new target. At length, he leaned forward and gently pressed his warm lips to her fluttering, left eyelid.

This time, he did not step away immediately, instead choosing to continue to hold her and allow their hooded gazes to fall into each other for a quiet moment.

"Again," Will agreed in a loving breath she could taste upon her lips.

Then he released her once more.

Swords, Elizabeth reminded herself with determination, as she wandered back towards the center of the room and took up her guard. Swords swords swords. Swords!

She would have him, for certain this time. But only if she tried something completely different. Her knees were throbbing, and her thighs and backside were beginning to burn when she crouched. She had to be smart.

This time, she stomped as though she were approaching him, but held back—a feint of sorts. While he twitched for half a second and grinned through the next, he did not buy into her bluff, maintaining a steady guard. Of course… Getting past him with that would have been too easy, as it was very much legal and therefore could be expected in a normal fencing match. To try something truly unexpected, she needed to attempt something outside the normal rules—he'd said there were virtually no rules anyway.

So Elizabeth swatted at Will's sword as hard as she could with her own. It worked, opening his guard for half a moment—and that was all she needed. With his arm thrown back, she simply threw herself at her opponent, latching her hands onto his sword arm in a determined effort to force him to release it. It might have worked… if it weren't for how much she had underestimated his strength relative to hers. Though she threw all her weight behind her efforts to wrestle his arm down, he barely stumbled, and his grip on his hilt may as well have been forged from the same steel that ran through the blade's tang, so unmovable it felt.

But what else should she have expected? While he didn't appear terribly taller than her or overly burly, their lives had still built them very quite differently. Up till now, she'd sat at tea parties by day and danced across balls by night for her way of life, all while he worked iron by the sun and tested his steel by the moon. One single pirate adventure wasn't enough to change that. With time and effort, she could—no, she would become stronger and faster, shrinking the gap between them to one day become a difference less vast. But for now, her body's strengths were utterly laughable compared to his.

So she found herself nose to nose with Will, his face creased deep with amusement as she smiled through deliberations of her next option.

"Hello," Elizabeth breathed.

"Hello to you," replied Will.

At that point, he reached around her with his left hand and moved his sword into it. Then taking hold of her right wrist, he managed to turn her around and place them both into a new pose. With her sword hand now stretched out to the side, her back was pinned firmly against his chest and her paths to escape limited by his backwards-flipped blade brushing her neck in cold touches of warning.

She had been restrained much like this before, but not by him.

Perhaps their position ought to have disconcerted her, with the unpleasant memories it brought to mind of her capture or from the warning their position presented of his abilities to overpower her. In different hands perhaps it would have. But this was Will. She'd known him from a boy she used to hold at stick-point and made to walk the plank, to the man who saved her life at the near expense of his own. In spite of his supposedly "threatening" demonstrations, his strength was undermined by a notable delicacy in his grip. He had not wrenched her into their current position, he had suggested it and she had agreed to follow like a dance—an important and notable contrast to the painful controlling clinch of her real captors aboard the Black Pearl. And in the cautious lightness of his touch, it was clear Will's intent was only to illustrate the danger she had placed herself in yet again with her tactics. Elizabeth knew she needed only show the smallest sign of displeasure and he would release her.

Displeasure was not the word she'd choose at all for this sudden turn in their sport.

In fact, so secure she felt in his "restraint," rather than stew in the aggravation of yet another swift defeat, she allowed herself the temporary satisfaction of settling into him and becoming somewhat distracted by the wonderful warmth she noted radiating from his body into hers, the rise and fall of his chest against her back. Her left hand found its way to clutch lightly at his forearm, doing so more to draw him closer to her than attempt to draw him apart.

Altogether, the sensations taking her were enough that she shivered ever so slightly when he settled his lips beside her jaw and breathed hotly beside her ear, "That was a bold move. I'm impressed."

"Good. I'm a bold woman," Elizabeth answered as matter-of-factly as she could, though she was grinning widely while making no effort to escape whatsoever. "And seeing as you are holding me quite intimately for a sparring opponent I think it's fair to accuse you of a boldness of your own."

His chuckle purred pleasantly against her back and passed over her skin in another enticing sweep.

"Bold and greedy, as you've already noticed. You did say you wanted both love and war, did you not?" he asked.

She had. They had used different words, but yes she had. And then he had taunted her with that half-finished kiss. He really was bold today. The nuzzling of his cheek against hers prevented her from falling into reminiscence, as the shiver in her spine became a rush that spurred her heart into a race and made her body a hum.

"What do you think, Elizabeth? Shall I claim my prize from you here?"

Her breath caught in her chest, halting whatever answer she would have given for the moment. He had never been this way with her before, and for once she found herself at something of a loss with what to say. All she could think of was her wondering over what he was planning to do now…

After several seconds passed without her voicing an answer, she could feel his hold on her begin to grow lax, apparently taking her silence for misgivings.

She clutched his arm tighter, signaling she wanted to play this game with him for a while longer.

At last, she found her voice again: "How terribly roguish you are today, Will."

Despite her show of willingness, he continued to let her bring her right arm back down to her side. But he still kept a light hold on her wrist as he did so, and ran his thumb in a gentle stroke along her wrist. Her own thumb mimicked the motion against the cloth upon his left forearm, feeling herself grow eager for more meaningful contact.

"Do you disapprove?" Will inquired quietly.

Elizabeth shook her head.

"No," she reaffirmed. Then she turned her face in search of his. "Kiss me."

A thrill ran through her as his lips sought hers, the taste of him lingering for a moment at the edge of her senses. But when he moved, it was not to seal their contact—agonizingly, he drew his lips further away, drifting a teasing path over her skin back across her cheek to the tender juncture just below her ear. Feeling the touch of her name on his breath, she dropped her sword in a clatter, her right hand flying to weave its fingers into his hair. Did he know how frantically her pulse was now racing?

'Kiss me. Kiss me now!'

Yet still he did not. Instead, he let mouth drift farther along, breathing a searing journey under her jaw which prompted her to tip her head back upon his shoulder to grant him better access and implore him to settle somewhere at last. It was when he'd finally arrived at the point his blade had been brushing her neck that he finally replaced the cold touch of metal with the soft and warm press of his lips to her throat.

She gasped into his ear, then wrenched herself around in his arms to take hold of him about his shoulders and claim his mouth for herself.

But he tipped his head back, lifting his lips up and away from her reach.

With a frustrated breath she tried again, standing upon the tips of her toes and wrapping her arms about his neck to close off his escape. His hands came to rest around her waist in response, but he broke into a giggle and still avoided her kiss with a simple turn of his face to the side.

Oh, she could outright bite him for this! "Will!"

Grinning, he gave his head a little shake of resistance. "You made this your prize—you have to earn it."

Fine! FINE! She would take him down at last, if that was what was required to get what she wanted! He asked for it!

Elizabeth snarled as she shoved herself off his chest, sweeping her sword from the ground but missing its grip and dropping it twice before she could finally stand back up straight. She refused to look at him. As she stomped back to her place in the center of the smithy's floor, she caught sight of Estrella, hands laid across her chest and mouth dangling agape in open fixation over the heated turn their practice had taken. In another mood, she would have laughed. Instead, she flared her nostrils and spun to face Will, angrily looping her hand through her sword knot and wrapping it twice to remove all slack.

This sword was not coming off her hand until she said so.

Will's eyes narrowed in humorous observance, while he smirked as though satisfied by her obvious seriousness. He settled back into his guard one last time.

She hardly gave him a chance to finish the motion, before she was racing towards him to unleash a flurry of attacks so furious that she actually forced him to retreat several steps, until his left heel clipped the foundation of entrance landing. Surprise was on his face. In a jolt of triumph, Elizabeth realized she had Will successfully cornered! If she could move quickly, she could actually—

No! Before she could finish her swing, Will had leapt backwards onto the landing itself!

'Damn you, Will!'

She slashed and grasped at his ankles, but he jumped high again—once straight up into the air to evade her contact, then a second time propelling himself backwards in an acrobatic flip over her head, clearly meant to switch their positions as he landed on the floor, cornering her in his place.

No! He could not win this round too!

Elizabeth swung her sword wide as she spun about to face him, bringing their swords into a harsh, ringing contact with Will's solid parry. Their swords were crossed between them. As she fumed at him from under the line of his horizontally held hanger, he quirked an eyebrow at her, wordlessly inquiring what it was she intended to do next. She gritted and bared her teeth as she realized she may have worked herself into a trap anyway. If she turned her sword about to open him up for an attack, she would probably become open as well, and he would likely move into her opening far quicker than she could move into his… If he was left unobstructed.

Her aching, trembling knees began to buckle. She felt her feet slide a little under the pressure of their deadlock. With some alarm, she realized if she waited any longer to make a decision, Will would make the next move for her—and it would likely be over. So she moved by instinct, throwing all her body weight behind pushing his sword down, then wildly trying to seize his wrist with her free hand to simply delay it a little on its path back towards her body. While interfering with Will's sword hand's arc, she took a swipe at his flank with her own.

But he mirrored her, catching her swinging wrist in the grasp of his free hand.

Elizabeth hissed. Now they were in another grapple—a position in which they both knew full well Will had the advantage. Still, she narrowed her eyes at him, pressing at him with all the might she had in her slender arms.

Gently enough to avoid injury but strong and steady enough she had to relent, Will pressed Elizabeth to step behind until he had her backed up against the entrance landing. She had to accept that her arms were simply not strong enough to resist him. But they were caught in a clench that would not allow her the liberty of leaping, so perhaps her legs were not much use to…

An idea struck her. She hoped for all this contest was worth to her that he didn't see the gleam of it in her eyes, as she gave him one last futile push to goad him into pressing her back a little farther.

"You know, if I were an enemy, I would probably try to pin you down now," he warned.

"Prove it," she dared him.

He did, carefully but firmly bending her down until he had her upper body pinned at the wrists to the upper landing's stony floor. He adjusted his footing for a moment, careful to hover over her in a way that kept their bodies at a discreet distance, save for where they clasped each other's wrists.

By all appearance he had won—but neither of them had dropped nor made a touch with their sword.

"That's enough, Elizabeth. Drop it," Will said, referring to her hanger, which she continued to cling to.

She bared her teeth at him in a snarling grin.

"Drop it yourself."

Then Elizabeth curled her legs up, planted the soles of her feet firmly against Will's chest, and in spite of the flare she felt in her knees, kicked out at him with all her might.

Visibly stunned, he stumbled backwards in two large steps. Elizabeth felt triumphant, even as he managed to keep a hold of her wrist and pull her along with him, even as he drew her roughly against his chest and pinned her arms to her side, even as she could not wriggle herself free from his entanglement. Her legs were shaking. This time her lungs were billowing for air within her stays. And pressed as she was to him, her pulse pounded so loud in her ears it almost drowned away the hoarseness of his voice.

"You very nearly had me on that one," he rasped lowly. "But now we're in another grapple—something else I would advise in the future you avoid at all costs, as your opponents will often be able to overpower you as I have done."

"Ha!" she snapped back, jutting her jaw at him defiantly. "You're just lucky I took pity on you. Were you any other man, my feet would have kicked a far more tender part of your body, where I doubt you would have recovered so easily. Then where would we be?"

Will's eyebrows rose high at this revelation, and without another word he dropped his arms from around Elizabeth—though she noted he did not take even half a step back from her. For what felt to be several minutes, she locked eyes with her partner in a determined attempt to read his thoughts, as their chests heaved only a hair's breadth apart.

Eventually, his lips twitched back into a smile and he began to shake his head.

She lifted her chin to him in answer. 'Say it, Will!''

He took a steadying breath, eyes flickering down the length of her for a moment.

"You might have won, then," he admitted, and the bliss of victory swept over her. That is until he added, "Although I suppose we'll never know for certain without you having done it."

Elizabeth wore her aghast reaction plainly upon her face, as her mouth fell open.

"That was a strong kick!" she protested vehemently.

"Yes, it was," Will conceded, and then pointed to the sword she still clutched in her hand. "And it was good of you to use your knot—I was going to critique you for overlooking it, before."

She refused to thank him. She didn't want his compliments, she wanted his surrender, and she made certain to make that clear in the glare that she leveled towards him.

Her feelings must have been impossible to misunderstand, as Will finally took a step back and held his hands up in a resigned position.

"Why don't we call this one a draw?" he suggested.

She shook her head slowly, firmly, and took a step forward to bring him back within her reach. No longer holding any patience, she laid the flat of her blade upon his shoulder and placed a heated hand to his bare chest. She leaned heavily into him, pressing him into a backwards walk until it was his legs clipping the smithy's landing.

"No," she seethed. With a shove from the pads of her fingers, he was sat heavily on the landing's edge, falling to his back with a muted grunt. "By your admission, I won." Fully realizing it might cross a line where was Estrella concerned but not caring in the least, Elizabeth knelt herself with one knee upon Will's thigh, then pinned him down by the flat her blade pressed to his throat, her left hand leaning heavily upon his right shoulder—a reversal of their prior position. "I want my prize."

"Mm…" Will hummed an exaggerated skepticism, though his hand had found its way back to her waist, making it clear he was only arguing with her to toy with her and avoid admitting defeat. "Except we don't actually know how I really would have—"

The greedy boldness of Elizabeth captured Will's words in her open mouth, engaging him a duel of a very different sort. And for several minutes thereafter not another word was said of the matter—or any other matter besides.