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.

21. The First Escape

It was afternoon before the last of the Swann's guests withdrew from the mansion. As the Cent carriage disappeared through the gate and down the hill, Elizabeth and her father let their hands and smiles fall—though she very much doubted he felt the same sort of relief she did.

Still he took and released a deep breath. "Well. That, as they say, is that—for now."

For now. Come Tuesday she would have to repeat the latter half of this ordeal all over again. Even knowing there'd be no mad redecorating rush or that she'd have the company of a friend, she couldn't pretend she was looking forward to it.

Elizabeth felt her father's hand touch her shoulder. He was looking at her again with that gentle glow of pride. "You were as wonderful as ever, darling. Thank you."

Her stomach twisted, even as her heart grew warm. She felt eager as ever to leave these tedious chores behind her, to quit the role assigned to her that requested she kept her eyes and tongue trained on idle prattle instead of topics she cared for—it was a feeling only exacerbated by her mountain impatience for the sun to also quit their mansion. Still, there was a pleased satisfaction to knowing she'd served her father so successfully, and a part of her did relish it for its own reward.

So she placed a hand atop his, and offered him a smile. "You're welcome father."

Something about her tone or expression made his brows pinch, and though he smiled in return he also gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I wager you thought that they would never leave."

She let loose a small laugh and dropped her eyes to the gravel, unable to counter that wager. "Oh.. Visitors and fish."

His hand fell away from her, and a good humor crept into his voice. "I won't say I disagree…."

It sounded as though he meant to say more—like a "but" of some sort was meant to follow—yet it did not come. Piqued curiosity drew Elizabeth's eyes back to her father's face, where she saw signs in his watchful eyes of a question, or something else he did very much wish to say.

He did not. Instead his thoughts turned inward, as his face turned towards the setting sun.

'Soon!' Elizabeth's heart suddenly skipped, as she remembered what time it now was, and what the time was meant to be in only a few hours.

"I think I'll walk about the garden for a moment and then retire early for tonight," she announced, before turning towards the house's entrance.

"So soon?" her father asked, clearly surprised.

She nodded back, while setting one foot upon the first step up. "I would like some time to myself, after all that noise. I want to take a bath and read a book. And I've another letter I'd like to write to Will."

Then she began to climb the stairs up to the door.

"You will be seeing him tomorrow morning," her father called after, as though she could have forgotten.

She paused at the door's threshold. With a turn of her head, she shot him a look that conveyed her lightly perplexed amusement, keeping the secret locked behind her lips that she would be seeing her suitor much sooner than that. "Then I look forward to the privilege of collecting him and putting my latest message in his hand myself."

Father shook his head as he climbed the short flight of stairs and met her again at the door.

And a part of Elizabeth began to feel paranoid, thinking of her secret plans with his studious eyes so close. So as they walked together from the door to the inner staircase, she posed a hopefully-natural question, "How early is he meant to arrive…?"

"Early," was his swift and thankfully not-at-all-suspicious-sounding answer. "I would like to leave the house promptly at eight o'clock, as usual."

With her hands upon the banister, she stood to the side and watched father as he began to take the stairs without her. As soon as his back turned far enough towards her face, she winced to herself. If Will was meant to be dressed and fed with them here, then that meant he likely would need to arrive at the mansion by seven at the latest. Another early weekend. And depending on what plans he had for tonight, there was a chance it would follow a shortened night's sleep as well…

'Although, more excuses for another midday's nap…' the more mischievous part of her thought.

Only for a voice reason to step in and remind her: 'No, father will be with us all day tomorrow. There'll be no time for that.'

At that thought, a picture appeared in her mind of Will's yawning, sleep-starved face, and she felt her heart sink a little. Another early Sunday morning, after the long, awful week he had? Asking him to come all the way up the hill, just to get dressed and break his fast, when church would not begin until after nine? That didn't seem fair at all.

"Perhaps we ought to send his dress to him, then?" she called up to her father's figure.

It was sensible enough. Then he could sleep as late as he liked, feed and dress himself, and meet them both at the chapel well-rested and ready for the day.

Father paused. Then he turned enough to look down at Elizabeth from over the railing, to declare simply, "Not this week."

She frowned. Why-ever not?!

When her father offered no explanation, and instead made to keep walking up the stairs, she pressed back with a carefully joking air, "He does know how to dress himself, father."

"That is not my concern," he answered firmly—and the certainty in his tone surprised her.

Did he think Will would steal the clothes? It wasn't as though they were the finest garments in the world. Even if they were, petty thievery wasn't in his character—he was as honest a soul as anyone, and father had to know it. And besides, the clothes were technically his now, she thought. Father had said they were a gift, hadn't he?

But before she could question him about it, he was already crossing the stair's middle landing—apparently not willing to negotiate the matter.

"I'll have a bath called for you," he said. "And if you feel inclined for a game or two before you retire, you know where to find me."

---

"Where you goin'?"

It was the first thing Brown had bothered to say in several hours, and it was right as Will had set one foot literally out the door.

He ground his teeth together, and took a deep breath. He had not expected there to be any problems with stepping out for the evening—there usually weren't. Regardless of what prompted Brown's sudden interest, he was determined he would not be deterred from this appointment. He'd waited to long for it, and more importantly Elizabeth had. If there were two oaths he'd ever swear at once, forcing him to choose, always he'd choose to keep hers first.

"To see a friend," he answered breezily, in an only somewhat vague, possibly half-spoken truth.

But it wasn't exactly a lie. Elizabeth was his friend—his very dearest. And he doubted his veiled admission would have fooled anyone.

A tense moment of silence passed, as Brown sat quietly at the table, rubbing his fingertips over his beard. Then without looking at Will directly, he grumbled, "I don't recall tellin' you you could leave."

A flash of anger shot through Will's body, up his spine into the tips of his teeth, which he bared in a terse retort: "You didn't pay me this week as we agreed either, and yet I still kept your shop in shape. Again."

A tense pinch appeared on Brown's shadowed brow—potentially a wince or grimace of some sort. "We didn't make enough for that this week, and you know it."

At this Will turned to fully face the room, though he remained firmly in the open the doorway, one hand still upon the latch. "We made enough. It was our spending that failed us."

The shadows over his master's face darkened as he dipped his head farther away from the hidden cut behind Will's words. He felt a little guilty for saying it, but after what the wounding words his master had thrown at him, after the hellish week he had just endured, the remorse wasn't great enough to truly regret it.

If anything, it only made the anger stewing in his guts begin to simmer quietly.

"I am taking leave for the evening." He asserted, no longer caring that it was not his place to do so. He had paid his time, and he was owed for it. He would take what he deserved. In return, he nodded his head towards the pot hanging over the fireplace. "There's soup on the fire if you need it, and bread on the sideboard."

He turned to walk out the door.

"You need an entire pack basket for that?" Brown called after him once more, obviously prodding for more explanation.

Will was unwilling to give it, and simply answered, "Yes."

Brown shook his head. "There's curfew. You get caught, I can't help you out of it this time."

A scoffing breath left Will's lips. Brown wasn't the one that helped him out of his legal troubles the first time either. What good did he think he'd do for him now?

Will walked out and shut the door behind him.

---

It was not quite sundown yet, but still Will had to hurry. And with his feet stepping one-two, he walked like a man on a mission. Then once he caught his first glimpse of a pair of scarlet coated soldiers three blocks ahead, he made a sharp turn to his right, detouring through the next street over.

Unfortunately, Mister Brown was absolutely correct: Port Royal was under curfew, which was approaching swiftly. The arrival of the Defiance had added many more patrols to the city's streets. And while the normal circumstances of walking from one place to the next within the city on one's own business was not likely to draw suspicions of any patrols, the truth was that Will's travel was not traveling in normal circumstances.

For one thing, he was an apprentice—one who did not have his master's full permission to be wandering about town after dark. That alone was a bold infraction that would very much get him into trouble. For what good could an apprentice be up to in the middle of the night, when most didn't even have coin to spend at the taverns? In the eyes of the law, the only things young men of such limited means could possibly be after were thievery or women—neither of which were permissible pursuits when your pockets were empty.

Which wasn't true, of course. Men like him had plenty of fair reasons to be out of doors after dark. They could simply be enjoying the cooler moon after hours of baking sun, for one. And also…

Uh…

Well, there weren't many other examples he could think of right now. But that didn't matter. They existed. And the point was it was a ridiculous presumption that all apprentices who made their way into the night could only be thieves or dark cullies.

It was only a strange coincidence that he, a known pirate with a public record of flagrant theft, was now sneaking through the city's streets carrying a pack basket full of his master's belongings towards a secret appointment with the most exquisite woman in the entire world. And even if it weren't, it still didn't make lawmaker's presumptions true in all cases, it didn't make the law fair, and it didn't make him wrong for breaking it. He could have other reasons for being out. Another time. And even with this coincidence of intentions, their purpose wasn't exactly the same. He wasn't "stealing" in the truest sense of the word—there was no money he was out to make from this. He was only borrowing a few of his master's things—admittedly it was without permission, but it was also genuinely, truly with every honest intention of returning them. Unlike other pirates. And he was only breaking entry to the governor's garden, not his actual house. "Breaking" was such a strong word anyway—there wasn't a single piece of hardware he'd have to break or jimmy or otherwise compromise. And perhaps most importantly: the woman in question he was sneaking to wanted to see him, didn't she? And she was a lady. It therefore seemed entirely unfair to… uh, to…

He wasn't meeting her because he wanted…

Alright, he didn't have a presentable excuse for meeting Elizabeth besides the fact that their desires for it were mutual, but all the same! They were doing no real wrong! They already knew they were to be married, and that nothing would change it! And there was no real harm in a few unsupervised conversations. Or an embrace. Or three. Or twenty. Or a couple longer kisses. Or…

His feet stuttered to a halt, as he belatedly caught sight of the shape of twin tricorns and muskets, this time only a block before him.

'Oh, hell—watch where you're headed, William!'

He took a hard turn down the street to his left.

He and Elizabeth weren't wrong. But he still had to be careful—the soldiers on patrol were not likely to care enough to see things his way.

Because he was not traveling under normal circumstances.

While Brown may have been presumptuous in his declaration that he'd helped Will out of his first run-in with the law, he hadn't been wrong about one thing: Will had only been freed from prison and noose with the intervention of a more powerful man. And it just so happened that that man was actually both the head of the lawmakers who had established Port Royal's curfew, and the father of the woman he was flouting said curfew to see… and hear… and touch… All after offering him her hand, in defiance of tradition.

To be caught in this mischief would be nothing short of a sharp slap to the governor's face.

But there were some things Will simply could not resist.

So here he was. A blacksmith's apprentice making his way to the edge of town with a basket on his back, after sunset. And if it were only about the basket and the secret of where he was taking it, he could simply keep his head down and avoid looking suspicious as he went about his evening.

Too bad he also had a sword strapped to each hip and a boar spear in his hand. Yes, a boar spear! So what if most people used muskets nowadays? The smithy had no muskets. It had a boar spear. And he was going to borrow it.

Which was not stealing.

But it was without permission. And it was admittedly very suspicious. And the contents of his pack and the letter burning a hole in his pocket were not remotely better.

So even without the pressing heat of the sun, it looked like his climb up the governor's hill would be an arduous one.

Hopefully he could make it in time.

---

The click of the latch on the mansion's back door seemed at least ten times more loud than usual. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she could have sworn she was hearing it from the outside. Every bush in the garden seemed determined to toss stray twigs and leaves to crunch under her foot. And even though she thought she knew the courtyard well enough to navigate it without a lamp, she'd overlooked that the tree could shade moon just as well as sun. The result was Elizabeth misjudging her surroundings entirely, and walking one knee straight into the swing.

"Damn you—!" she hissed reflexively through teeth grit in pain and panic, before catching herself and finishing the rest in her head, '—you bleeding piece of driftwood shite!'

Then with frantic, blindly groping hands she found the swing's ropes and stilled its swinging.

This was going terribly.

There were servants outside their quarters—she could smell burning tobacco—and they were bound to notice something going on that wasn't caused by the mountain breezes. But from the lowness of their voices, and a stray cough or two, it sounded like whoever-it-was wasn't moving anywhere, and she was likely safe for now.

From them, anyway. For all she knew, this tree and its swing could be someone's favorite secret midnight smoking spot, and it was only a matter of time before they appeared. She had to get out of here.

But as her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she could not see the reason coming down here had to be a secret in the first place. Wait—maybe that was him at the base of the trunk? No, upon squinting and stepping a little closer, that was just more trunk. Well, he had said he wanted to scale the wall. Perhaps he was waiting for her on the other side? He had mentioned something about the big branch overhanging it… God, why hadn't she bothered to get herself a second pair of breeches to keep on hand here? She knew they would be climbing over one way or another… At least the bark was relatively smooth. And she was wearing her riding boots.

But aside from the one branch overhanging the wall, most of the tree's boughs were entirely too high up for a first grab. Before, Will had only managed to get up into the canopy with that ridiculous jump off the swing… Which she could not do, especially in this blindness.

As though remembering the moment, the tree's leaves began to rustle and rush over her head.

"Lizabeth,"she almost thought she heard it say. And she smiled at the memory rolling back in her mind, as she squinted up at the branches, both to find her own way up and to remind herself how monkey-like her ridiculous beau had looked while crawling through the treetops.

'No, not like a monkey. Like a sailor! Like a pi—'

A twig bounced off her head.

"Ow!"

Her head swiveled in the direction she thought it came from. It struck her with a force and angle having far too much purpose to have merely dropped out of the canopy. And with glaring eyes, she found the shape of its source, squatting on the base of the "escape branch."

Her heart leaped high enough it could have taken her up into the tree all by itself.

Still, she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. He'd thrown a stick at her! And although she doubted he could see her face, the fact that he'd seemed capable of making out her shape well enough to have managed to hit her meant he could probably read her displeased posture just fine.

He waved an apologetic hand before waving widely to come to the wall. Then he turned and began to shuffle from the tree branch onto the tall stone partition itself.

She could see much better now. And while she still stumbled once or twice over the largest roots protruding from the ground, she managed to make it to the base of the structure without any further mishaps or harm.

Looking up revealed that Will had, in the same time, prostrated himself on his stomach along the length of the wall. His face was now close enough to the edge of the tree's canopy that patches of starlight had pierced the shadows and fallen over his eyes, unmasking anew the soft turn of his lips.

These he moved without a sound, mouthing to her, "Give me your hands..."

Then he sent down his open palm to dangle just over her head.

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow and offered him a smirk. Somehow she had allowed herself to imagine that there would be more to this escape than just this, if only through the use of a rope of some sort. But then in a way, she ought to have not been surprised—Will had always been one to seek out the simplest solutions to his problems. And what need did they have for rope when his hands would do just as well?

With one hand she clasped his wrist and let him clasp hers in return, warm and sturdy against her night-cooled skin. Her other hand joined her first to grasp him by his forearm, just above their formed clasp, to provide her a second grip. Then using her toe to press for a proper foothold in the unfortunately smooth plaster, she braced one foot against the wall, and locked her eyes with his. She was ready.

His lips press together tightly. His fingers clenched around her wrist for a moment, and she felt the movement flex through his arm, hardening the muscles beneath his sleeve until he almost felt like stone. Then without a word she was climbing—taking hunched, sliding footsteps one at a time up the wall, as Will bent his arm and hauled her off the ground. His face scrunched with a look of intense concentration—probably a mirror of her own, as she clenched her teeth and fingers and dug her heels into her effort to climb. But when she was finally high enough she could have made a grab for the wall, his grip did not release her. Instead, he began to sit up and allow her to climb higher, higher, steady as iron, until she finally had one knee lying upon the wall's cold, rough brick-lined coping.

Then they grabbed each other at once—while her freer hand fastened itself to his shoulder, his spare hand fastened itself about her elbow. And with a final pull and some awkward repositioning from both of them, she had joined him in straddling the wall, knees-to-knees and face-to-face.

Ah, they had done it—were doing it!

And Elizabeth saw his bared chest heave a little in shared time with her own gasps and giddy laughter.

"Fancy meeting you here," she joked, a little breathless from the climb. And perhaps she was getting ahead of herself, but her fingers had found their way back up his arms, and were running their way towards his shoulders, as she leaned forward—

With a whisper of a laugh Will leaned backward a little, and brought one of his own fingers to his silenced lips. Then before her face could begin to settle in a questioning expression, he used the same finger to over Elizabeth's shoulder, in the direction of the servant's quarters, behind her.

Turning to carefully to look behind her, she now realized the servants weren't so hidden anymore. While she couldn't see the maids in question any longer, she could see their shadows cast upon the wall from their shared little lantern—they were the pair of pipe smokers she had heard and smelled before. And actually, if she squinted, there was a chance she could see the very top of the taller maid's head from over the thick barrier of hibiscus hedges and palm fronds.

That meant with one wrong sound or motion there was a very good chance she and Will could also be seen where they were sitting, atop the wall. And there absolutely would be no reasonable explanation she could offer to save their skins, if they were found here.

Understanding Will's strict silence even better now, Elizabeth turned back to face him and nodded her agreement. They would wait just a moment longer.

Her eyes had to readjust after looking towards the dim lantern light, but she still caught a glimpse of the whites of his teeth, suggesting a flashed grin. Then with a full turn of his head, he looked down the outer side of the wall, as if to say, "Not here. There."

Elizabeth followed his gaze, and stared down into the darkness. Eventually she was able to catch sight of a large square, paler than the black-green foliage surrounding it: a blanket or canvas of some sort—and clearly where they were meant to climb down.

Will extended his hands for her to take again.

Ah, right! So they were going to repeat what they'd just done, but in the opposite direction. With another clear nod for a signal, she then began to scoot in a little closer to place her hands more filmy atop his shoulders. His head moved like he was confused, but his hands came to rest below her elbows, and he helped her remain steady as she rose back to a crouch on her feet.

For some reason, now that she had to go back down, she felt a little more unsteady and nervous. But Will was her anchor, fastened tightly to his place upon the wall by the sound grip of his legs. And as she clasped his hand and arm again, and turned her back to the ground below with shaking knees, he finally spoke to her, so quietly it could have been missed:

"I won't let you go before you're ready."

That was all the reassurance she needed. From the unwavering strength in his hands and arms, she knew their grip would not be broken, even with her hands beginning to sweat.

So she took her first steps down the wall, slowly at first. Then as she regained a feeling for the action, she walked a little faster. Her foot slipped—she gasped. Will bent forward but held fast, and as such her other foot held true. Though her heart had begun to race, she managed to make it far enough down she could uncurl her legs and let her feet dangle to the ground.

Except on this side of the wall, her feet could not quite touch it—the ground was not level, and in fact from this perspective, she could see it rolled surprisingly steeply downward. She had to be careful how she landed.

With a deep steadying breath, she looked up at Will, whose face was completely shaded from this angle.

"Ready?" she heard him ask.

"Yes!" she hissed back with a nod and approving squeeze of his arm.

"Mind the lantern," he answered. Then he dropped her.

---

Will's heart leapt for a moment as Elizabeth stumbled two steps backwards—but she caught her balance quickly enough that she avoided falling down the hill.

As though to emphasize the success of her landing, she looked up at him and launched her hand off her brow in a saluting motion.

He let the tension in his gut out on a laughing breath, with a shake of his head. They were off to a decent start, despite his plan overlooking that her only pair of breeches were still in his own trunk back at home. At least she'd thought more ahead and worn her riding jacket and boots—although whatever she was wearing underneath wasn't the same full set of skirts she'd worn before.

But now he needed to get down. And re-assessing his landing spot from the wall's top, it became clear he might have underestimated the pitch of the ground down below, or how the night's shadows would blind his efforts. He had meant to simply jump down—but now that seemed potentially like a bad idea.

Perhaps he could lower himself part way and drop, like Elizabeth had done? But were the coping's bricks set deeply enough he could use his fingers to…?

"Shall I hold you up by your arse?" Elizabeth called up with a teasing tone to her barely-softened voice, apparently having noticed his hesitation.

"Shh-sh-hh!" Will hissed back, although it bounced with a bit of laughter at the unprompted reminder of one of their childish misadventures, trying to spy on the officers at the fort.

Once his fingers finally managed to feel out a decent enough grip on the bricks—although admittedly it wasn't the soundest hold in the world, as his fingers weren't what most would call slender—he began an effort to lower himself down in a similar posture to Elizabeth's descent. However, he was not able to make it quite so far down, as he was clinging to the farther side of the coping, leaving him almost two feet off the ground, cutting uncomfortably into his arms and hands with the edges of the brick. Which hurt more than he would like. So on the count of one, he let his grip go and clumsily slithered, then dropped, back upon the blanket.

He too stumbled a little backwards through his landing, enough he would have fallen and landed on his ass. But for him, Elizabeth had been waiting to catch his fall. And despite swaying a little under his weight, her hands upon his back steadied him very quickly.

Bless her.

He turned his head to try and see her from over his shoulder, as he ran his hands over all the places irritated by the sharp brick edge. "Remind me to bring a rope next time, as well."

"Or I could just borrow some from the stables earlier in the day," she countered.

Her hands smoothed a path up his back and over his shoulders, and a pleasant chill shot his spine.

"Or that," he agreed.

Then he turned to face her properly, to find the comforting darkness of her eyes in the oppressive darkness of the world around them.

And there she was: dressed in shadows and bejeweled with glowing patches woven by moon and stars. The chatter and smoke crossing over the garden could not reach them here: only songs and hushes from the forest. No significant thing stood behind her, beside her, between her and him any longer—not the walls of the mansion, not the doors of her carriage, not the scrutinies of father, or his servants, or any other soul too self-important or heedless to mind their own goddamn business.

Alone…

They were alone.

Not for five minutes that could be interrupted in a moment's notice. Not just out of earshot of an indulgent but still watchful minder.

Alone-alone.

Alone!

In all of an instant, they both sprang. Will wasn't sure who moved first—only that Elizabeth's hands had grasped his head, and he had grasped hers. And without proper oaths or witnesses, their mouths had been married one to the other in a fit of madness so frantic, one might have thought they hadn't seen each other in years. But in a way, they hadn't—not like this, without any concern or restriction looming over their heads.

She smelled like honey and tasted like flowers–or was it the other way around? What did it matter? The clamant grasps of her hands and mouth flew in the face of any hints of her more delicate senses or sensibilities. Who was the one holding the other more tightly, sighing more deeply, falling more swiftly into the other's embrace? And no one was here to stop them. They could fall together as far as they wanted.

But what Will wanted, he remembered quite suddenly, was not meant to be hidden behind some wall, concealed under jungle canopies like that of a wild beast with two backs. He'd had a plan! And every moment spent here was one less spent someplace better…

So after some moments reassembling his shattered discipline, he slowed and separated their connection, before it spun beyond control.

"Your beard is coming back," she laughed, while running her fingers along the stubble lining his lips and jaw.

"That does tend to happen."

She leaned into him again, with a gaze that roved him over and made him want to do the same. It was not so easy to disentangle himself from that look in her eyes, lit with the mingled heats of fury and fancy... But the wall was cold on his back and wind in the trees made sounds like the sea, reminding him of why he'd broken off their kiss to begin with.

"I've a better place for this. Come."

Then with what had to be the strength of Sampson—held together by a hair—he put his hands on her shoulders, and held her in place as he took a step back from her.

"Where?" she asked.

But despite her question, she seemed reasonably appeased by his assurance that they would continue, stepping aside willingly as he plucked up from the blanket both the swords he'd brought with him, still hanging in their baldrics. One he held out for Elizabeth to take, and she accepted it with round, excited eyes, a wide grin, and both her hands. After they'd both slung their baldrics over their shoulders and ensured their swords were still secure, Will gathered the blanket up, gave it a shake, and rolled it around in a sloppy approximation of folding it up. Normally, he cared more for putting things away properly, but it would be coming back out again in only a few minutes' time—and he was very eager to get to that point in their evening.

Seemingly in an effort to assist him in his clean up efforts, Elizabeth took the liberty of picking the lantern, and made to open its covers.

Will shook his head at her. "Not yet. Wait till we can't be seen."

She let the lantern fall with the hand holding it to her side, as he finished waddling up the blanket into a reasonably transportable shape. This pathetic excuse for a bundle he tucked under his left arm. Then with their items secured, he reached out and took Elizabeth's left hand in his right.

"Let's go!"

---

They wove through the trees together in silence, trying to balance the need to follow the mansion's wall with the need to pick a path that would stop snagging Elizabeth's skirts. Halfway through, she grew tired of their slow progress and wrenched her hand away from Will, taking him by surprise. Then, with a huff and no explanation, she handed him the lantern, gathered up her gown, and secured it in a large knot that kept her garments gathered at the level of her knees. Seemingly satisfied by this, she then reclaimed both the lantern and his hand, and ushered them onward.

"I've waited long enough!" she declared without a hint of irony.

"You could say that again," Will found himself laughing in agreement.

She frowned and gave his arm a tug. "Don't you dare make me!"

After that, progress through the jungle was much more swift. Within a handful of minutes, they emerged from the greenery and onto the moon bright the main road, just two yards or so away from the mansion's main gate. In case she had not already noticed it, Will brought his hand, still linked with hers, to his face so he could place a quiet finger over his lips.

She nodded, mouth curved in a chipper smile that reminded him of when they were both thirteen and up to no good except by pure, childish delusions.

Before doing anything, he answered an impulse he had first felt all the way back then, but had never felt brave enough to answer: he leaned in and softly kissed the grin on her mouth while he had the chance.

Then before she could respond with something greater, he separated himself from her, to take a few more steps down the hill while blindly searching the shadowy shapes of the trees lining the side of the road. Though Elizabeth still did not speak, he could hear her footsteps behind him, and glanced back a few times to tell whether the Swann's porter had been alerted to their descent.

Eventually, Will finally found the tree where he'd perched the pack basket. In this he shoved the blanket. After hoisting the straps back over his shoulders, he searched about until his hands found the shaft of the boar spear, which he withdrew from the tree—to Elizabeth's open-mouthed bafflement. He shrugged. Then again glancing towards the half-hidden but still-closed gate up the road, he held out his hand for Elizabeth once again. She slid her hand back into his quietly, and with slow and careful steps they made their way down the road on opposite sides of the wheel ruts, to avoid tripping themselves up or twisting ankles.

Just twenty quiet paces more.

Ten.

Two.

And eventually, at last, when they both turned to look back over their shoulders, all sight of the mansion's gate had been cut off from their sight by the turn of the road, one hundred percent. Bound by one shared thought, their heads whipped back in search of each other, smiles gleaming in the rising moon.

"Will! We did it!" Elizabeth practically squeaked, with so much excitement it came out of her in a little hop.

"We did!" he agreed, just stunned enough to become temporarily dumbfounded.

They had done it…!

"We're free!" she thrilled and, taking a few steps ahead of him, pirouetted on the road's shoulder with arm's spread wide like wings.

"Aye!" he answered, watching her, mystified.

By god, they were free…!

"Oh, I could scream, if it weren't the middle of the night!" she finally moaned in pure bliss. Then with a bubbling set of giggles, she quite suddenly rushed back in his direction and threw her arms around him—clumsily whacking the basket on his back with the lantern she still clutched in her hand, but he didn't mind it. Although he tried not to do the same to her with the spear still clutched in one hand.

And he laughed, with his knees bent low to catch her. Then rising to his full height, he picked her up enough to dangle her feet from the ground—something done even more easily than usual thanks to the steep sloping of the hillside. With her legs suspended, he swung her from side to side.

In response, Elizabeth kicked her feet more wildly than ever before, all while burrowing her face against his shoulder, with giggles still bright and giddy.

He held her tighter, pressed his face into her hair. And he sighed to himself over the garden he could smell hidden on her. "If you wish, we can both do it once we're by the shore—I doubt it'd be a disturbance there."

Carefully so as not to lose balance for either of them, he began to set her back down upon the slanted ground.

"The shore?" she questioned with interest—as he hoped she would. "I thought we were going back to your home."

He wanted to cover her face in kisses. But since she'd begun a conversation, he shook his head, then repositioned himself to stand on the inside of the road, with the spear in his left hand. He extended his right hand to again take her left, allowing her to both walk along the more even edge of the road and to hold the lantern for them both.

"No. My intentions were for something more… interesting."

"Were they?" She opened the dark lantern's cover and pointed the circle of focused light on the ground before them, before accepting the clasp of Will's hand. "Which shore are we going to?"

They began to walk—although Elizabeth's walk had a bounce to it that threatened to take her into a skip.

"You'll see. Mostly," Will answered, unable to prevent the wide expanses his lips were stretching to, when she began to swing their joined hands together merrily.

Her movements were making the lantern's light bob around their path nonsensically, but he had no heart to chide her for it. This was exactly what he had wanted—what he had needed—this entire week. Though their shoes were crunching on hard-packed dirt and scattered pebbles, and he was made to steady himself with the spear with every weave and turn of the road's path, he felt lighter and more airy than he had in years. If the ground were more level, he probably would have broken into a skip with her—it felt more right than walking, more in time with the beats of his heart. For he was walking hand-in-hand with Elizabeth Swann! And this while all the rest of the world lay wrapped up in sleep, completely oblivious to it.

A rustling sound in the trees to the left drew Will's attention, and reminded him that while the rest of the humans in Port Royal were asleep, not everyone was. Most notably, there were plenty of creatures that made their way out and about at night—especially away from the city.

He clenched both his hands tighter, ensuring his grip on his companion and their protection were both steadfast and secure.

"Stay close to me," he muttered, as much for his own reassurance as it was her advice. "It really is dangerous to be walking out here after dark."

"Is that for fighting bandits, then?" Elizabeth pointed one finger from her hand holding the lantern, indicating to the spear.

"Hogs," Will clarified.

"Hogs?!" she echoed in some horror. "All the way out here?!"

She had a right to be concerned—wealthy folk like her father enjoyed hunting for sport, and if he remembered right, she'd even ridden along for several hunts over the years. She was very familiar with the dangers of feral hogs, perhaps even more than he was. And the fact was that a large hog could not only stand as tall as a grown man's waist but could also weigh three or four times as much. Their hides were tough, their bodies strong, and their tusks terrible weapons. On a rampage, they could easily tear out small trees and gore most creatures in their path, humans certainly included.

But…

"I think most of them actually stay away from here, especially closer to the water," he admitted, and began to feel a little sheepish. In an effort to make sure he wasn't under-prepared for the evening, he may have over-prepared in an unnecessary area. "Still, a few have been seen wandering in the foothills recently, and I wanted to be prepared, just in case. Brown has no muskets I could borrow, so: spear."

"One spear," Elizabeth clarified with a single eyebrow raised, as though unimpressed.

Will grimaced. "Unfortunately."

She shook her head. "I sort of feel like I'd rather be holding that than the lantern."

A flash of shame crossed Will's cheeks—of course she'd feel more protected with a weapon in her own hand! He assumed again and forgot to ask, just like she'd told him not to do.

"Trade me," he answered, and brought their walk to a halt so he could hold out the spear for her to take.

"What?" she balked. However, she did accept the offer and handed him the lantern in exchange for the spear. "But what will you do? A sword is hardly of any use against an angry hog!"

Will tipped his head to one side in a shrug, then stepped back into their walk. "Well, ideally we won't run into any to begin with. Or if we do run into any, we cross paths quietly enough nothing becomes of it." With the lantern now in his hand, he was able to point it a little to the right of the road and illuminate the boundaries of the jungle. "But if for some reason we come across one angry enough to attack, I figured we both would first try to get out of its way and climb the nearest tree."

"That would be more wise," she agreed thoughtfully. Then she held her new bladed walking-stick aloft. "And I suppose the spear is in case we are not fast enough?"

"Pretty much, yes," he admitted with a bashful smile. "Can I trust you to have my back, since you are the experienced boar hunter?"

Elizabeth let out a single wry laugh. "Well, you can always trust me with your back or front or any other part you wish protected. But I'm afraid boar hunting nowadays is mostly done with dogs and muskets. I've only ever known one person who still preferred using spears, and I believe he was Prussian."

"Probably the same fellow who commissioned that spear to begin with."

"Scheimer?" they both asked each other at the same time.

After which, both responded with overlapping variants of, "Yes, that was him!"

Then they laughed together over the coincidence.

Will squeezed Elizabeth's hand again, struck anew by how lucky he was to be here with her this way, together.

She answered with a beaming smile, and three squeezes of her own, harder.

His own grin widening, he squeezed back three times as well, a little harder still and lingering twice as long on the last squeeze.

Her expression turned impish, and the three squeezes she returned were done seemingly with as much strength as she could muster. It pinched a little.

"Alright, alright!" he laughed, unwilling to take it any further. Then he shifted their grip so that his fingers were interwoven with hers. "You win this time."

She made a tutting noise with her teeth, and pouted her bottom lip. "You gave up. What fun is that?"

"I did," he confessed easily. "I don't feel like playing that game tonight."

"But you do feel like spearing wild boars in pitch dark?" she teased back, stepping inward to nudge his shoulder a little with her own.

He nudged her back. "Well, seeing as I just gave you our only spear, I'm not sure how that would be managed. Unless you have no particularly strong feelings about becoming a widow before we're fully wed…"

"What a horrible thing to say, Will!" Elizabeth gasped, and he immediately regretted suggesting it. Then with a toss of her head she declared in an exceedingly stubborn, High Born accent, "I shall never be your widow! I refuse."

She may have been joking, but Will still felt his face flush as he responded with a half-joke of his own. "You're right. I apologize. The least I could do is give you time to choose to become my wife first."

A smirk in one corner of her mouth was her answer. "No, not because of that. You know I've already chosen."

"No?" he asked, and raised his own eyebrow at her. "Then please tell me we aren't talking about a Romeo and Juliet scenario…"

She put upon an embarrassed expression, as she answered, "Well…Technically I think we'd be more like Pyramus and Thisbe…"

The look that crossed Will's fast had to be aghast.

"I'm joking," Elizabeth insisted with an emphasizing tug on his hand, before quietly adding, "—mostly."

Will shook his head to himself. Who was the one saying horrible things now, really?

After taking a few steps in silence, Elizabeth sighed and turned her face to the sky. "No, if you died first, then I'd just continue to be married to a dead man."

A confused look colored Will's reply, "That's a widow."

"It is not!" Elizabeth scoffed with great insistence. "A widow is a woman whose marriage was ended by the separations of death—a husband who is dead and gone. It's different. I would still have you, somehow."

Will felt his brows furrow deeper. What the hell was she talking about?

She saw it. In the next breath, she was explaining defensively, "If skeletons can live and walk under moonlight, then it stands to reason that ghosts and other deathly beings may as well. I could be married to a ghost, if it was you."

He laughed to himself. The thought of himself as a phantom trying to make "a living" by using any of the smithy's hammers or other tools, only for his hands to pass straight through them, was ironic and amusing. Even more amusing was the idea of turning into someone who could pass through the governor's walls and straight into Elizabeth's room, whenever they both pleased… Until Will considered how any attempted touch from a spirit would likely only pass through her as well.

The letter in his pocket suddenly felt very defined against his leg, and a hot flush rose up his neck, into his cheeks.

"If I were a ghost, I doubt I could care for you the way a husband should."

Scriff!

His foot stepped on a patch of gravel and slid a few inches ahead, making him nearly lose his footing. For a split second, his hand and the lantern flailed as he fought for his balance. But Elizabeth's grip steadied him, and in the next second they were again walking as usual—though Will kept a closer eye out for patches of pebbles.

"Well, perhaps there's a way I could bring you back…" Elizabeth mused, continuing their conversation as though nothing had interrupted.

"If there were a way, I feel like…" Will began, before realizing what he was about to say and letting it trail off.

If death could be reversed so easily, life itself would look very different. His life would have looked very different. He would have his mother and possibly his father again. Possibly even brothers or sisters. Perhaps he could have had slightly better means to present Elizabeth's father for her hand—to present Elizabeth. He'd have a home of his own to go to after his time with Brown was up, a warmer place where he could welcome her visits with love beyond his own. He'd have things to offer her. His mother would have adored her, spoiled her, he was certain.

But then death was what drove him away from England to begin with. In a strange way, it was also what made his father send him the medallion that made Barbossa chase him across the sea.

If death could be reversed… would he have ever met Elizabeth to introduce to his parents to begin with?

"Ah, why are we talking about death at all?" Elizabeth suddenly bemoaned, as though she had managed to hear inside his head. Then she again tossed her head back and looked to the sky in unrestrained joy. "Look at this! The stars are gorgeous, aren't they?"

The corners of Will's lips twitched. She didn't know it yet, but Elizabeth had just struck upon one of the very reasons he'd invited her to walk with him in the dead of night.

Still, it was early in the evening—not even an hour since the sun had set. What stars there were to see were but a taste of the full splendor yet to come. And he wasn't quite ready to give away the surprises he'd planned.

So he bobbed his head from side to side in a pretense of indecision. "Hm… they're nice, I suppose. But…" He gave her a pointed look.

Her lips pressed together, guessing easily what he meant to say—that she was gorgeous enough to outshine them all—and appearing flattered and possibly a little flustered over it, as sappy as it was.

But then her face changed to make her own pretense, and she gasped, "You're more gorgeous?! Why, Will! I do agree, but I have to warn you that such outspoken vanity could lure the anger of very jealous gods! Have you not heard the stories?!"

It was Will's turn to roll his eyes along with his entire head, though his face was all aflame and his heart had started to skip. She was in an extremely playful mood tonight—not that he would ever complain. But he gave their joined hands another little tug before raising them his lips.

"Just let me tell you you're beautiful, will you?" he said, and planted a kiss upon the back of her hand.

She smirked back, teasing, "Oh is that what you were getting at? I never could have guessed!"

"Then allow me to make it more clear:" He drew their linked hands over his chest and bent a little closer to her ear. "I cannot look into heaven and feel awestruck, when I have you walking beside me, looking twice as radiant."

Her lips parted, lost for words for half a moment, before another flustered-flattered laugh slipped past them. Then she dropped her eyes to the ground, watching her careful footsteps.

"For godssake, Will," she breathed. Eventually she glanced back at him, and her eyes were happy crescent moons. "Did you think that up before now?"

Yes. Walking up the hill, climbing over the wall, and waiting for her in the tree had given him lots of time to think of things to say to her—tonight or in his next letter.

But he smirked back instead of admitting it. "Not telling."

It made her smile again. She'd been smiling the entire night so far. And perhaps it was all the walking up and down this hill, but he was certain that was her making his knees grow weak—he could feel himself melting a little more at every extra glimpse he got of her elation. He may have thought his compliment up before, but it didn't make it any less true: she took his breath away more easily than every star in the sky put together.

So he risked a little clumsiness to soothe another impulse: he let loose her hand, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her tight to his side. He felt her sigh and wrap her arm around his waist in immediate answer. They squeezed each other, close as could be, and he placed another kiss upon her head. Not another soul was there to witness it. It was theirs.

This was theirs.

"We're free, Will," Elizabeth breathed quietly over the crunches and scrapes of their shoes on the hill.

His heart leaped again with joy to meet her voice. "At last, yes."

Her hold on him tightened. "We can talk about anything we wish, and not another soul will hear it."

Ah, yes! He'd become so taken up distracted by having her in his hand, his arms, he'd almost forgotten one of the most pressing reasons they'd wanted to meet together in privacy to begin with. Now the opportunity had finally arrived for true and honest conversation. And he had prepared for it! In addition to picking out the perfect compliment to say to her, he had mentally repeated to himself every important thing he'd wanted to discuss—every question he had, every answer avoided, every confession his tongue had held back because of Estrella or her father or some other person's closely hovering ears.

Except with everything that could be said, he now found himself somewhat at a loss over which one was most important. He didn't want to ruin the mood by immediately questioning her recent habits of surprise visitations. Mister Brown was not the most uplifting topic to discuss either. Then if they spoke about Brown, of course there also was the problem of his missing salary. And…

Come to think of it, a lot of the things Will wanted to discuss were fairly serious.

'Well. We are definitely not children anymore…'

They couldn't exactly run away from their problems to play pretend anymore. Or rather, they could, but he knew a bit better why they shouldn't. Still, perhaps the ice could be broken a bit more gradually by a ofter topic? And considering how he had none…

He asked her, "What should we talk about first?"

When she withdrew from his embrace to look at him, there was an equally perplexed puzzle on Elizabeth's brow.

"I don't know," she said, almost as though she were surprised. "It felt like I had one hundred things I wished to say to you before, and now they've all left my mind. I should have written them down…"

Ah, so it would fall to him anyway. Just his luck. And, "Speaking of writing down…" he muttered to himself, as he was once again reminded of the letter sitting in his pocket.

Elizabeth perked up, not only having heard him but understanding what he was referring to. "You have it?"

Ah, hell. That was the one thing he wanted to talk about last, if possible.

He nodded, then tried suggesting, "Let's talk about it at the shore, though."

Thankfully, his request didn't seem to bother her. Instead, she accepted it, then prodded him with another nudge to the arm. "Well, then what do you think we ought to talk about first?"

"Hm…" he thought aloud. Did he have even one nicer topic? Actually, now that the letter had come up, he was remembering several. But like the letter, he found himself wanting to save the best bits of conversation for last. Perhaps starting with the serious things could be alright, after all—as long as she agreed. She didn't want him assuming, she said. So he asked, "Do we want to talk about nice things or necessary things?"

Her lips pursed together in a charming pose of thought as she considered what she wanted more. "Perhaps we ought to do the necessary things first, so we can enjoy the beach when we get there."

While he didn't sigh in relief, his heart felt like it did so for him. He didn't exactly mind when they were at odds with one another, but tonight it somehow felt important that they stayed on the same page as often as possible.

After everything she'd showered over him these past weeks, he wanted tonight to be one that left her smiling.

Which could be easier said than done. But time was ticking, and they were approaching their destination at a steady pace.

So he nodded, and said, "Then… we need to talk about money."

An almost somber look passed over her face, as she also nodded in agreement. "You've had that on the mind a lot."

"Impossible not to," he answered, and felt a strange sort of relief that it was out loud instead of only in his mind. "I know what it's like to be bound to someone who cannot provide it."

This slowed their steps to a halt, as the somberness on Elizabeth's face darkened to a stern and quiet seriousness. Her brow was weighed down by a host of unreadable thoughts when she looked at him, but in his eyes he recognized the readiness to do battle—to fight her way out of whatever problem he was about to lay before their feet.

But she did not know. It wasn't just Brown he spoke of now, but his mother too. He had been her child, eating the meals that she could not provide herself before he could understand what it meant for her. Then once he could understand, doing his best to sell errands or flowers, or climb into tight chimneys for sweeping, so that she could eat with him—so that they could both eat something better. Those were days he'd mostly forgotten, except for when certain times forced them back to the front of his mind. Cold days where they chose between paying for food or fire. Long days where work was as hard to do as it was hard to come by. Lonely days, where the sea's horizon stretched on forever empty of the only sails that really matter.

Will shook his head. "I cannot do that to you, Elizabeth. I won't accept it."

"I already told you, you don't have to," she returned, her face hardened with determination. "It doesn't have to be just you who's responsible for us."

Ah, why couldn't she understand? He waved his hand back up the hill. "It does to your father. To him, I'm the one who needs to do well—and even if I don't agree with him, he isn't entirely wrong to think that way Elizabeth, when everyone else does!"

"Forget my father, Will!" Elizabeth sighed with a weary sort of exacerbation.

"How?" he snapped back. Then he took a breath and stepped closer to her, to help keep his volume in check. "Your father… expects me to not only fulfill my contract and begin earning a decent salary within nine months—which in itself would be a challenge, except I also have to find a place for us to live."

"And I've said—"

"I remember," he cut off, though he felt a little sorry doing so—especially when she looked so ready to speak. But in the past few days, Will had begun to realize he did not feel Elizabeth had been really, truly listening to him, unless it was to argue. And he needed her to understand: not everything could be fixed by her or her father, just because it was convenient. If it were as simple as that, he would have brought up the topic of letting the guest house ages ago. Unfortunately, "It will not help his opinion of me. And even if it did: we can joke and laugh over you keeping me as a ghost for a husband now when things seem lovely, but it isn't a joke to me. None of us live forever—he will not live forever! And if I died before you, and he is gone, what I do now needs to be enough for you. I need to be a husband who is enough for us—for you—to live."

She began to seethe, clearly wanting to push back against what he was saying, to say he was wrong and she was right, and he needed to bend his pride a little more than he'd done his entire goddamn life, and just accept her father's wealth like the humble handbasket person he was lucky enough to be.

But something he had said seemed to reach her enough that she reconsidered it. She tensed her teeth, she looked around in frustration, she huffed and sighed in some hidden internal debate. Then she looked at him with those wide, wild eyes.

"How many times are we meant to argue over the exact same thing?"

It made Will's heart clench a little. But in this he felt he had to stand his ground.

"Until we can come up with an agreement where we are both satisfied," he answered quietly.

She rolled her eyes before turning them, to the edge of the forest, unhappy. There were many things she knew that he didn't, where she would be his teacher and his guiding star—but this? This involved things he knew all too well, and never wanted her to have to learn the way he had. They had to be self-sufficient—from day one.

And they could be.

Will took a step towards her, and with a careful hand reached out to stroke her shoulder. "Listen. I know I can do this. Even if your father doesn't believe it, I am good at what I do. And even though the better parts well take a while longer to put together, I believe I can secure us a reasonable place to live—a decent house, with more than one room, like you were saying you wanted—using only a small bond to pay for a short while, if I can earn one hundred pounds before our wedding day."

Again, she was silent for a moment, calculating. When she spoke again, her tone was more accepting—but she still had a counter offer. "You wouldn't need a bond. I could use my dowry to pay the rest."

He let out a weary breath through his nose. It was a better suggestion than before—if not for the fact that they'd already discussed it with her father last week.

"The dowry's for you to use on yourself," he reminded her. "I will stand by that."

When she looked at him, her eyes were as unwavering as her voice. "And it shall be my house too. If I want to pay the bond, I will pay the bond."

Will wanted to argue, to be able to say he could do it all himself, as he'd done before. But he had to admit: it would be wise. To be able to start off their marriage with a small but sturdy house and no debt to speak of hanging over their heads? That would be a far better protection for her in the end. It was as her father had said in the beginning: his pride would recover. He could take a wound or two if it meant that she would live better than his mother had.

"Fine…" he agreed. "But I want the bond to be as small as possible."

She sent him a look conveying her displeasure with him not leaving the end of the argument.

One more time, he insisted, "I want you to have that money, in case anything happens to me one day."

"All the more reason to make our house one we own, then," she countered smartly. "You said you currently are lucky to make half what a beginning journeyman is meant to make in a week."

Ah, he'd said that? How foolish of him. Perhaps he'd been more sleep-addled while writing his letters this week than he'd realized—he thought he'd kept all the most important financial details for this conversation. Well, there was no getting around it.

"… Yes," he admitted.

"How much?"

Ah, now they were at the painful parts. It was hard enough he had to insist to her father that he was a worthy suitor for Elizabeth, that the life she would have would make her happy. But always in the back of his mind, there was a nagging fear that what she thought was humble and what he thought was comfortable would still be divided by a great ravine when reality set in. The fact of the matter was: her father made something close to £3,000 a year. And while he was proud to say he made twice as much as others—common sailors and the like—he would be wildly fortunate to make anything above £100. As a starting journeyman, £50 was more likely.

It was not half what her father made. Not a quarter. Not even a tenth.

Thirty times less. Sixty times less.

And they joked about her building a collection of chairs… People who didn't have mansions didn't collect chairs.

He let slip a sardonic laugh. But she was watching him, still waiting for his answer.

With humiliation burning him from the neck up, he quietly admitted, "Half a pound or so."

Her eyes widened, and it made him want to sink into the ground. Then they narrowed, and he watched her calculate, wishing the ocean from his dreams would come up to sweep him out to sea before she understood.

But she understood, and she put the pieces together out loud: "If it's that alone, it would take you half a decade to save up enough."

He nodded. To be honest it was a generous estimate, since it did not factor all the spending he would absolutely have to do—just to eat alone would cut sharply into those earnings. But she understood the principle.

"Which is why I'm not relying on any salary alone," he declared to her.

'Or at all,' he thought to himself.

Then for her, he continued, "And it's why I've been so determined to do the work I can for Mister Dodson. If I can earn that commission, it'll be fifteen pounds just for me. Thirty weeks of pay, Elizabeth. In one week!"

Elizabeth's eyes widened again, as the significance of his work and what it meant seemed to finally be sinking in.

Without a word about it, they both began to walk again—slowly at first, as it gave Elizabeth room to ponder, leaning her weight upon the spear in her hand with each few steps.

"What else have you been thinking?" she eventually asked.

The question was a bit vague, and for a moment he looked at her for clarification. Was she asking for their next topic? Based on the deliberative look pressing on her brow, it seemed she was still thinking about his earnings—and therefore likely still asking about them.

"I'll try to make more money off other good commissions, of course," he started.

She didn't correct him, but her face began to look vexed again—and it occurred to him that she likely wasn't only calculating his part, but hers as well.

So Will continued clumsily, "But… I think I—that we are going to have to get creative, if we don't want to risk things falling apart at the last minute."

That seemed to soothe her a bit—the hard pinch to her brow softened, and she nodded. "Alright. I have some ideas already. What are yours?"

Tension began to melt from his shoulders, and with it some of his shame. She wasn't angry, wasn't blaming, or bitter, or even disappointed that he could see. She was ready to get to work.

And so was he.

With heart beginning to beat in a rush of hope instead of worry, he took a breath before his answer: "The Christmas festival."

She stopped their walk again, as confusion seemed to slap her in the face and leave her blinking. "The festival?"

"Yes," he said simply. When nothing obvious came to mind for her, he explained, "You know how it is. There are contests as part of the festivities—some with valuable prizes."

"Purses…" she realized, as the light of ideas coming into shape began to burn again in her eyes.

With a nod, and a step, Will continued their walk, saying, "I can't win them all, of course. But if there are a few things I'm good enough at, I think I could get a couple pounds at least. Maybe I could win a pig and sell it. Or if I don't sell it, I could have it packed up and have meat for months. Save money faster that way. Whichever would work."

"I could join you," Elizabeth offered, starting to smile again—it made him smile as well. "There are different contests women can join. And maybe even… Perhaps I could join you in the fencing competition?"

And now she was getting excited. Will could practically see the image of her sword glowing in her eyes. Like her smile, her enthusiasm was contagious.

"You could…" he agreed, envisioning her as his second, cutting cocky gentlemen down in front of half of Port Royal.

The vision was temporarily interrupted when he looked at the road ahead of them, and was startled to realize they were close to the large rock marking the diverging path they needed to take. With his hand he pointed it out to her, and picked up the pace of their walk, eager to make the final turn descending to their destination.

Darkness enveloped them once they were off the road and on the footpath, swallowing the stars and making the lantern's beam of light seem all the brighter. To the rest of the forest it felt like Will's eyes had gone blind. Though in the distance he thought he could make out the softest glows of fireflies, pulsing on and off in lazy, dreamlike patterns of the cloaked sky.

Together they began cutting again through the trees. And remembering their conversation, he added, "… I wish there was more time to let you prepare, though. We're only a few weeks away…"

The path was narrow, and they were no longer able to walk side-by-side. He could not see her face anymore. But her hand touched his back as they walked, and he could hear the optimism in her voice as she dismissed his concern. "I don't need to win this one. Tournaments in the summer or next fall—in those I can compete to win. But for next month, I can just… wear your rivals down, so you win more easily."

His lips curved, impressed, even though she could not see it. With that approach, it would make more sense for him to be her second. It was a strange strategy. But she was willing to lose overall if it would help him win more in the end.

Will began to think aloud, "You'll need to get a few rounds in to make a proper impact. But if you specifically practice methods to avoid being hit, and try to outlast as many men as you can…" It was less than two months away, which wasn't a lot of time to master much. But she was already light on her feet, thanks to her years of dancing. Footwork she could definitely handle. And she was a wily fighter, even if she wasn't yet a polished one. "Yes, that could work…"

But they would have to start prioritizing practice somehow.

"How much do you think we could win?" she asked him, starting to sound a little breathless—and father behind. "From the festival overall?"

Will realized he'd lost her touch from his back, and in his excitement had begun taking quicker, rider strides down the trail, with their only lantern. He slowed down, and took some time to add his option back up again for her.

"I can win at axe throwing almost for certain. Probably darts as well, if it's there. And maybe nine pins—although that one's trickier." Once she was back behind him, he looked at her from over his shoulder. "I'm not so quick at the foot races."

"I am," she asserted. "I can run."

"Alright, so say we win that," he said.

He put a hand on her waist, and waved for her to step ahead of him. She accepted the offer, though it meant her shadow loomed before them as they walked, like a gigantic warrior woman.

And though the sight amused him, he mused on for them both, loudly. For if any hogs were to be found, it was in these trees. And it was far better that the beasts could hear them before they arrived, rather than being startled into an attack. "Wrestling… it depends. I sometimes can beat some men a little larger than me, but anyone hauling things at the docks or other more burdensome tasks would likely catch me out."

"You're strong, though," she countered—though he was certain it was only to soothe his own ego more than anything else.

"Not enough. There are much larger men than me, every year. I doubt I'll get far…" He let his voice taper off for a moment, as he tallied up the imaginary score.

The fireflies had definitely come out in thicker sparkles, and even though the lantern dimmed their presence, their glowing pinpricks to the sides of his vision was starting to make him feel a little transported, out of his own skin. Also that giant shadow of hers, and the way it mirrored every detail of her silhouette and her movements so perfectly, was starting to become a little mesmerizing. Her hair was bouncing and swaying behind her like shining billows of gold-spun silk. The path was sloping down again, and though she was walking swiftly her careful steps were long, graceful, and…

Wait, he was supposed to be reporting their potential winnings. "I don't know. Say we win a crown for each competition: I think we could walk away with an extra pound or two… by the end…"

But speaking of ends. It was her hips he kept watching now, and he was only just beginning to realize it probably was indecent of him to do so. Staring at her tits was one thing, especially when she pointedly teased him for it and left them bared to begin with. But whatever she was wearing now was not the usual layered sort of dress she wore on a normal day. It looked much light—like most of the layers were missing. And with her skirts knotted around her knees like that, it was much easier to notice the natural shape of her underneath it. Less sharp and meticulously sculpted, and more… human, or something.

Whatever it was, he wasn't sure that the way his eyes kept flitting back and forth over the swaying of her and her shadow was altogether…

"And the fencing tournament?"

He heard her voice, but for some reason didn't register that it was a completed question. When he didn't answer right away, she turned to look back at him—right as he'd somehow allowed himself to slip into admiring the little hints he could see of the rounded heart shape of her cooler.

If he were made of metal, his face would have been glowing red as a cherry. "I haven't won it yet—haven't been able to pay the fee to enter. But if I can this year, the prize is ten pounds."

Satisfied, Elizabeth turned back to face the direction they were going—which in the dark all looked like the exact same five yard stretch of trail running on forever.

"So we could have thirty pounds or more by the end of the year, with just those ideas alone," she concluded. "And if you do catch the hog, that would be another good haul."

"That's right." He refocused his eyes on the rocks and intrusive tree roots, or the way she and her shadow swung her free hand as she walked. If he became too fascinated, he was certain he'd forget to watch his step and trip over a tree root, or something else ridiculous. Land face first—maybe even take her down with him. And that was not what he wanted.

'No, let's make it down to the beach in one piece, first. You can make a fool of yourself and compliment her bottom once you're settled.'

"But there are a lot of 'if's in there…" she said, and for a panicked moment he forgot what she was replying to, wondering if he'd said his thoughts out loud.

'What did you actually say? Something-something festival purses? And then she said you could catch her haul. THE HOG. THAT THE HOG COULD BE A GOOD HAUL—GOD!'

He cleared his throat to hopefully sound relatively normal when he spoke. "That's… also right."

She turned once more to look at him, and this time she was offering him a soft smirk under teasing, clever eyes. Her hair caught the candle light, and swayed about her like waves of gold, beautifully illuminated by the lantern's glow. "Would you like to hear my ideas, now?"

"Yes. Please," he answered, feeling a little dumbstruck. "I'm certain they'll be much more clever than mine."

Oh, how did they get here? He was starting to feel like he was in a dream again, running in place—so many of them over the years had him chasing her, and lately it felt like it was always down this mountain, to the sea. If not a dream, he just may have fallen into a fairy's trap, meant to become one of those poor besotted hunters chasing an enchanting nymph to the edges of forest and water, where one of them would catch each the other, despite knowing that their entanglement could never last…

"Well for starters…" Elizabeth began, then quite suddenly she stopped and turned to face him—so unexpected it was, she had to stop his forward momentum by placing her palm to his chest, "… take on another apprentice."

Her hand was warm, and her eyes were spectacular. The fireflies were still floating about them. It took a moment for Will to register what she had said. Another apprentice. For him? How? But by the time he understood her meaning, she was already pressing ahead, saying more:

"Mister Brown's going to need a new apprentice soon anyway—you could be leaving him in a year, and he has no one who can be trained up in your skills fast enough to replace you. And thanks to all the work you've already done, I believe you have the experience to guide someone new through their apprenticeship, don't you? Even if Mister Brown is too sick to take on the task, you could do it. And you could use that fact to negotiate collecting half the other apprentice's fees, and the chance to take someone new on."

Perhaps it was the way they were no longer moving through the trees, and her shadow had stopped swaying, and the lantern was calm—perhaps it was how often she mentioned his master's name. But whatever the reason, Will felt his mind clearing once again. And while he still fell into the depths of her eyes, he was listening, understanding the argument Elizabeth was laying before him.

Which was why, when she finished, he had for her an answer that could only be a disappointment: "Mister Brown is exactly the reason why it might not be so easy as that…"

That same fiercely intent took over Elizabeth's expression again—except now, with the lantern's glow illuminating her, he could see clearly how it came with an equally tender compassion.

"Why?" she asked him, combative and pleading at once.

As he searched for his answer, images of the past several weeks returned to his mind of the sleepless nights, the broken promises, the disappearing coins—and the ugly words he'd heard, not just about himself but Elizabeth as well. What could possibly be the right to tell her that his master was growing two faces, and one of them seemed to loathe her entirely for now good reason?

"It's complicated," he admitted.

She leaned onto her spear, as though to insist she wasn't going anywhere. "I can handle complicated."

Her stubbornness made the corners of his lips twitch, even as he sighed. "I know you can. But that doesn't make it easier for me to explain."

Her face softened a little, but she held her ground, waiting for him to find an answer even if it was difficult. It would take some time, and he did not want to waste it standing in one place.

"Let's keep walking," he suggested quietly.

And after a moment's debate, she quietly turned and began to continue her way down the hill. He stayed closer to her this time, so he could shine the line around her as he thought about the words he first wished to say.

"It's because he's drinking again, isn't he?"

Ah. Apparently he didn't need to find those first right words after all—even with his layers of discretion, she'd figured it out on her own. He had to laugh a little to himself. How could he be surprised? It wasn't like Brown's condition was as much of a secret as he made it out to be. If the neighbors knew, and the guild knew, and even some clients knew… It had to be at least a little obvious. And Elizabeth was no simpleton.

Suddenly, her insistence on sending him so many baskets made more sense.

"Never stopped, to be honest," he confirmed. "But yes. It's gotten worse."

For several moments, the sounds of their footsteps and the songs of jungle's crickets, the fireflies, the frogs suspended the meaning of this revelation in the air between.

Then Elizabeth asked quietly, glancing at him from over shoulder, "What happened?"

Again, the question itself wasn't difficult—it was the things he had to answer that forced him to weigh his words.

"Nothing truly horrible. He just…" he began slowly, not wanting to make her worry more than she already seemed to have done. Then suddenly the words found each other on his tongue, and the story of the smithy's troubles started to unfold. "He's spending money like he's never done before. Amounts that don't always make sense—especially because your father is paying him now, to make it easier to pay me. I've thought he might be gambling too, but I don't know yet."

A few more moments of quiet reflection passed, as Will thought back to bills Mister Hanson had brought him—and the other taverns which still needed to be paid. They'd just made back enough that their coffers weren't entirely empty, but it couldn't count for anything yet. "Talking to him about it hasn't helped yet, even though it seemed like it would. When he's sober enough, he wants to try to do better. We make agreements, have tried to change things around. It's one reason why he's allowed me to keep some of my own money. Then he'll go a few days without having too much, and it'll seem like everything is looking up… But then I leave for an evening, and suddenly he starts all over again." "I'm half convinced he'll be gone when I go back tonight."

And with a chill creeping up Will's spine and grabbing hold of his heart, he remembered that he'd left the man alone again tonight, to wander wherever he wanted, without sign or warning… He swallowed. These weren't the feelings he wanted to be feeling tonight.

Elizabeth slowed her steps for a moment, then bent to pick up a branch which had somehow fallen across the path—probably from yesterday's wind.

"It happens only when you leave him?" she asked, struggling to pick the awkwardly shaped bough up while holding the spear in one hand.

"So far," Will answered, and reached out to hold onto the spear for her.

She looked back at him to confirm he had the hold she thought he did, and to send him a brief smile of thanks, before letting the spear go and tossing the tangled branch off to the side.

Will continued his explanation as she went about her work. "The one exception is he seemed to be doing better than ever when we came back from… you know. The pirates. And all through the trials and everything, it was better than he'd been in years." After brushing her hands against each other a few times, Elizabeth took her spear back—though she didn't yet turn to keep walking. Instead, she watched him, listening as he speculated, "I think all the work doing repairs for the town maybe kept him too busy for it. I don't know."

"I don't understand what about this is holding you back, then?" she remarked, again leaning on the spear like it was a staff, this time pressing one cheek up against the grip of her overlapping hands. "Do you think that he spends so much he would not be able to meet his duties as a master?"

He… actually hadn't considered that yet. But it was another good point.

"Probably."

Now her brow furrowed with more questions than before. "But… he'd be receiving extra income from a new apprentice—one you could perhaps help him manage. And if he improves when he is busy and not left alone, perhaps the task of training someone up again could actually be a boon to him."

"Perhaps…" Will conceded, after a moment's pause.

He wanted to be as optimistic as her. There was a chance, certainly, that things could get better. And it would be ridiculous not to give it a try, at least. But apprentices were young boys—ones Will felt deserved better opportunities than he had. And when he recalled the harsh sound of Brown's voice as he insisted, almost deliriously, that his sons would be coming back from him…

Elizabeth took a step in his direction. "We're meant to be talking, Will. Talk to me."

Though her voice was soft, her words could have slapped him across the face. Yes, they were meant to be talking—really talking. Why did he feel the need to hesitate anymore? No one else was listening. And he trusted her, didn't he?

He had to trust her. He was marrying her—not for money or class or anything else material, but because he loved her. And if he couldn't trust her now, then what did that even mean? Surely, just because she prodded and pushed for better answers, that didn't mean he couldn't trust her? Right? Did he believe she would ever laugh at him or turn his feelings aside if she truly knew what it mattered to him?

… No.

No, not on purpose. He could see it in her eyes now. She wasn't looking to fight with him—she was looking to fight the world with him. And as long as she didn't know what their enemies, their obstacles, their weaknesses looked like, she was bound to strike him by mistake. But once she knew… once she understood…

The jacket she wore now, it was blue instead of red. Her hands were folded around wood instead of brass. But moonbeams had begun to cut through holes in the canopy overhead, falling upon her shoulders. She looked exactly as she had in that pirates' cave, watching fervidly for any attacker who would keep striking at his back. And Will knew: time and time again, she would appear at his side again in the moonlight, clutching whatever weapon she could take up in her hand, at the ready…

If…

His throat had grown tight. He swallowed, breathed.

And began to talk: "The other day, something happened…" Another moment of hesitation, wrangling for how to make his tongue convey the biting weight inside his chest. "I don't know how to describe it—it was like he was a different person. I'd never seen him that way before in my life."

Elizabeth's lips parted, and her brows pinched with pangs of distress in her concern and confusion. But she said nothing, yet.

"I don't know what it was, but something had made him so angry. And he said these things to me…"

God, trying to repeat it made him realize just how deeply they had cut. Did he have to say it now? Or ever again? Perhaps it was enough that she knew that his master had spat on him with vinegar, regardless of what kind.

He looked her straight in the eyes, choosing to cut straight back to the heart of her advice. "I understand what you are saying, Elizabeth—I've actually been considering the very same thing myself. Extra hands in the smithy would be a godsend. But after the way he's acted lately… I just don't feel like it's the right time."

In his eyes, she had every right to ask more questions—as much as he had a right to choose and not answer them, anyway. Her eyes flickered over him for a moment, and all the questions she likely still had. He wasn't sure what she thought she was seeing, or what other answers she was looking for.

But in the end, Elizabeth only nodded. "Alright. No apprentice yet. Surely there are other options for a little extra coin?" Then she turned sideways and tipped her head, signaling her desire to keep walking. "You have another bed in your room—at minimum you could let it out for a lodger and collect the payments. I could help you post the listing in the paper."

Relief washed over him. And he could not begin walking before offering her a smile… and a little ribbing. "I thought you wanted that bed."

A fresh flash of scampishness appeared in her eyes, as she simpered back at him. "No, I want…"

She hesitated on the edge of a word, hanging precariously between her parted lips. He thought he could see what she might say, but didn't let himself hope for it. He thought he could see her see him seeing it, and hoping. At least, that's why he thought she began to smile over it, like she'd kept a precious secret.

Then she raised her chin and tossed her hair a little, before offering with a jocular tone, "Perhaps you could take me on as an apprentice. Teach me to swing a hammer… or let me grind things down for you."

Will let out a laugh, "Ha! I'd do that for free."

He took a step off the path, so they could try to walk shoulder-to-shoulder. They began to take a few steps.

"Would you?" she asked with a tilt of her head, apparently enticed by the notion.

"I would. If you chose to join me, I would welcome it." Then though they had just begun walking, he stopped them again, wanting to look her in the face straight and true as he promised her, "Anything you ever want to learn, you only need to ask."

Her eyes curved like moons from the delighted roundness of her smiling cheeks. The grimness of the past few minutes were chased away by the delight of her, as cheery and full and play as ever, saying. And she reached a hand out to him, taking a fistful of his waistcoat in her slender hand, while saying, "Oh, I'll join you alright. And I feel inclined to remind you how I do like a good hands-on education…"

Her kiss was her proof, soft and decadent, and he accepted it without reserve. But this time she only granted him the touch of her lips, before drawing back away, and continuing on the path before them. He ached to watch her move again, that way, away… And he realized then if he listened carefully, he could hear between the rushing of the trees the first sighs of the surf, crawling at the base of the hill. The colors between the trunks of the trees ahead of them were growing a little less dim. They were getting close.

He joined her, at a picked up pace.

"You know I am serious, right?" he asked her from behind. "Blacksmiths' wives tend to the forge almost as often as their husbands. There's a widow down the street, Missus Skipwithe—a real widow—she runs her late husband's forge all by herself, and has for years. She's our biggest competitor."

That earned a quick turn of Elizabeth's head, though she kept walking as she sent him an obviously intrigued look. "I didn't know…! I could make my own swords for myself?"

"Of course! It's more common than you'd think!" he answered. And he placed a hand upon her back, near the base of her neck. "But even if no other woman ever did it: do you think I'd ever stop you, if that's what you wanted?"

When she looked back at him this time, the smile in her eyes was filled with the colors of her heart, and it warmed him sole to crown.

"No, you wouldn't," she sighed, and she sounded content. At least, she did until she suddenly tossed her head forward again, and added, "Well, except for now, when you keep stopping us from going to the beach you promised!"

He shook his head to himself. "We're walking right now! And besides, you've stopped our walking nearly just as much."

"Oh, I have not!" she scoffed.

He moved his hand to give her a playful poke between the shoulder blades. "You're the one in front! Feel free to run ahead without me, if you're so inclined."

"Then give me the lantern!" she shot back, and turned her torso enough to extend her open palm towards him.

"Give me the spear," he reposted.

"No!"

"Then good luck." He smiled, full of cheek and for once reveling in it.

She glared at him, before turning back to face the direction she was now marching at a very quick clip. "The person with the lantern really ought to be in front."

"I suppose," he agreed. Then, feeling a little emboldened by the successful and lighthearted turns to their conversation, he added, "But I've taken a bit of a liking to standing behind you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she needled him with eyes still narrowed as they glanced at him, this time suspiciously.

"It means I prefer the chance to look at new sides of you the whole night through."

She started to laugh, and what a music it was—enough to make him stand even taller and bounce a little higher in each step. "Will Turner, we've gone off-topic entirely! Tell me what you think of my idea."

"I think it makes perfect sense," he answered honestly, and much more easily. "My only doubt is whether Mister Brown will listen to that sense when I bring it up with him."

A gasp as she stumbled over a rock, though she was able to steady herself with the spear.

"Careful!" Will breathed. And once she had regained her footing. He held out the lantern for her to take.

After waving that off, she kept walking, kept speaking, as though the moment had never happened. "Why wouldn't he? It's more money in both your pockets. He could drink himself to death all the faster, for all it's worth."

Will frowned at that. "…That would not be ideal for us."

A beat of thoughtful silence passed between their footsteps.

"Well, maybe I could ask him?" she suggested. Another coy look appeared from over her shoulder. "I promise, I'm very persuasive."

"Oh, I know," he assured emphatically. Then, after a moment's debate, he told her the truth, "But I think he's becoming intimidated by you and your father. It's strange. And I don't know if it'll last. But for now, it'd probably be better to leave those negotiations to me."

There was no sound or motion from Elizabeth to indicate what she thought of that revelation. When she did speak, it was as though she'd chosen to ignore it, "If you say so. I just think there may be other options for you, where you're leaving money on the table—and not all of it has to involve you working past midnight. Which is ridiculous, by the way."

The confidence with which she spoke warmed him, drew another arc of appreciation to his lips. As the terrain became steeper, and they were made to weave around a rotted stump, he watched her pick out her footing.

He spoke to her quietly, "I like the way you think."

"Thank you!" she chirped. "For another idea, I think you ought to consider placing some promotions in the paper just for the smithy itself…"

When she looked at him from the bottom of her descent, she was at the center of a halo, a beacon in her own right in a dark wilderness. Even though the shadows flickered with the candle's light wrapped all around her, her smile was shining and perfectly steady. And now, considering the all possibilities that lie ahead, with her at his side, it seemed to him the perfect picture for the way their future felt.

---

The trail began to wind back and forth as the sounds of the ocean grew bright and distinct.

They walked on for several minutes more, swapping ideas and thoughts about the smithy, in between bouts of increasingly frequent flirtations. As usual, there would be a small market stall for the festival, and Elizabeth enjoyed the project of suggesting what pretty trinkets could be made to catch the attention of festival goers, in addition to the most common basic necessities they always laid out. They debated whether making little blunt swords for children or even littler swords for novelty knives would be worth anything. She wondered whether he'd ever tried his hand at making any sort of animal figures, good luck charms, or pins for ladies' hair. And while Will didn't say it out loud, Elizabeth's musings reminded him of a certain special technique he'd learned of and had been wanting to try. He made a mental note to himself to do so for the festival… and possibly a surprise Christmas present for her.

"What are the things you sell most of, Will?" she asked, as they took another turn in the path.

"Repairs, actually," he answered, though he knew it wasn't the answer she wanted. "Lately it's been a bit different, but I'd wager it goes back to normal soon and I'm fixing broken pickaxes and shovels more than half the time."

She shot him an annoyed look. "Then what do you make the most?"

He smirked, then gave her the answer she wanted, though perhaps a long winded version of it. "For paying customers: usually tools. Almost every job you can possibly think of needs something from us. Things for the docks are very common: anchor chains, anchors, all sorts of hooks, hammers, rings, bolts—pounds and pounds of nails. Any sort of wright will probably need something—other smiths too, like the tinsmith. Lots of things that cut and carve—axes, adzes, chisels and all that. Knives, obviously. Saws."

"And swords," she added for him, grinning, with her hand falling to rest on the hilt at her hip.

His well-warmed heart swelled inside his chest. "And swords."

A few more steps. Another switch-back in the path. The fireflies were gathering thicker while the trees grew thin—it was enough that the moon had begun to peek through the leaves and shine upon the path. Will debated whether he ought to close the lantern so they could enjoy the flickering bugs on the final stretch down.

"Father…" Elizabeth began with a more tenuous tone in her voice. "On Sunday, he made it sound as though your only options to make good money are to make things for the plantations. But that's not true, is it? All these tools you make—these are things that you… that we would only sell to people in the city and the docks…?"

Ah, their next important discussion. He'd forgotten that this had come up—though that evening had been something of a mess of information poured over their heads to begin with. And then Monday had been battered by winds from a completely different direction.

"Well, I haven't had much of a choice in it until now. But in a way, yes: there's plenty we can make without selling to the planters themselves. The plantations are far enough inland, it's a waste of time and money for them to come all the way out here. They'll usually have their own forges and smiths they run out there…"

He thought he heard her sigh, but the wind and the sea's matching sounds made him realize he probably had imagined it.

Even if she hadn't, it was just as well. While he knew that answer would be a relief, it was neither complete nor perfect. He knew her convictions, knew why she loathed the planters. More than ever before, he agreed with her. But they were only one link in the chains of bondage she wished to shun, if they could not be broken. He went on, "Unfortunately, I can't account for every ship's captain or crew who comes to our door. And…" She hopped over a large rock. He followed suit. "We used to be one of the favorite forges of the military. I used to love working on those commissions—thought I was serving a greater good helping Norrington lock up and kill every pirate he could, in whatever way I could…"

Yet he'd turn pirate after all. Not just that, but he'd turned around risked his life to free another pirate from an execution he would have once gleefully attended and cheered. He'd done it for her, yes. He'd done it for Jack Sparrow, of course. But he'd also done it for himself. Because somewhere along his wild weirdness of an adventure, things he had once accepted to be right had turned wrong. Things he had once denied could be unbendable could, in fact, be broken if not bent. Not all crime was truly criminal. Not all punishment was justice. And not all who upheld the law did so for the greater good.

The greater good was what he really wanted, in the end. To make a place where the people who deserved it most could suffer and die a little less. And after opening his eyes to these truths, he realized he could not simply shut them again and live with himself in peace. So here he was now, standing on what felt like was the other side of a looking glass, with Elizabeth staring back—just as she'd always been.

"Funny how things turn out. All those days arguing on the beach while playing pirate games, and you were right the entire time."

He saw her head left from the task of spotting her toes.

"Well… yes." She turned her head back to send him a sportive smirk. Then her eyes returned their focus to her quick-stepping feet. "But you were right about some things too, I'll admit. Not every pirate out there is the hero I would have imagined them to be. Most weren't, really. So I suppose the truth lies somewhere in the middle, in the end."

"Even so," he found himself insisting. "I don't feel quite the same… enthusiasm for hanging prison bars as I did before. It seems…"

What? He wasn't exactly ready to start pretending that prisons made no sense at all. Barbossa had still gotten what he deserved—and if Jack or him hadn't gotten to him first, he would have been glad to see him rot away, after all he'd done and threatened to have done to Elizabeth.

Still, something about the thought of helping the construction of the Navy's next fort left a bitter taste in his mouth where there hadn't been one before.

"I understand," Elizabeth assured in his silence. Then after a passing thought, she asked, "Do you think… if you sold less things to the military too, that would mean selling less swords as well?"

"Perhaps a little," he admitted. "But to be honest, they're becoming more interested in firearms these days. I don't really make swords for the Navy unless it's something ceremonial."

Pangs of regret cut through her voice, as she asked, "What will you do, then? Your swords are so beautiful."

Somehow hearing her say it that way made Will's heart sink with hers for a moment, before it bounced back in a bit of defiance. This wasn't the first time this question had been brought up before—Mister Brown had pointed out the predicament, when he'd first begun forging swords in earnest in his spare time. It didn't matter if his motivations had shifted or if his skill were broader—he'd poured his heart into the mastery of his swords, from billet to battle. He had developed a genuine love and pride in doing so. But in the end, smithing was a business. And there wasn't money in making things no one else needed. So, when muskets and cannons had conquered the world, who did he think he would sell all his blades to?

Back then, Will hadn't cared for the answer. He wasn't just making them to sell, he was making them to kill pirates—to protect and avenge what good he had left. Now, those feelings had shifted… but they were still there. And they made him think of a woman's hands, and recall the spice of callaloo.

"Oh, there are people who still use them often enough, for now. And there's still plenty of interest in them as ceremonial gifts…"

But those would likely only be commissioned by the lords and officers and planters. Swords like that were not meant for the common man. So where would his artistry go? All those hours through all these years would not go to waste—he could never allow it. His eyes turned outward and focused back on the uncommon woman before him.

"I'll make them for you," he declared. "Even if no one else buys them, I'll make a hundred for you."

She beamed in his direction. "Better than a bunch of chairs, anyway."

That made him throw his head back in a laugh. "You read my mind!"

"And your letters," she reminded.

Speaking of which… Perhaps it was about time to finally bring one of her letters in particular back up, at last. The trees had finally parted, brush had cleared. And over Elizabeth's head Will could see the breaking waves falling across the sands like clusters of pearls spilling out and in from the deep.

"We're here…"