Fic: Hearts on the Sea
Title: Hearts on the Sea
Rating: For All Ages
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean / Harry Potter
Summary: A favor is asked of a very special man...
I've got a lot of random drabbles floating around, things that I like because they are based on weird ideas, but I probably won't expand. I like this one, even though it sort of begs more to it.
The coast wasn't on any map. Though it was Unplottable, people knew of the place, speaking of the traditions of floating rum down the river, assured that it would come here, and making certain that the donor would find luck on the open seas.
But the man standing on the cliffs overlooking this coast was not looking for luck on the open seas, nor was he one of the credulous fools who send bottles of rum into the ocean in the hopes that the Ferryman would spare them. He had come for his own reasons, and knew exactly what he was doing.
The box in which he had placed his treasure sat next to him on the grass. He could hear the soft rhythm from within it, a strange, organic sound that not only filled him with revulsion, but horror, as well. Within this box was the last trace of his mortality, the last piece of the puzzle. And now, he was to take that last piece, and ensure it would never be found.
Far in the distance, the sun drifted into the horizon. The man reached into the wide sleeves of his robe and removed a long stick of yew; this he held lightly in one hand. He then picked up the box and began climbing down the cliff to the shoreline. By the time the sun had nearly set, he had placed the box down again on the sand by the edge of the water. He removed a heavy bottle from within the confines of his robes and let it drop to his side, swinging it absent-mindedly.
Then the sun dropped below the horizon, and a flash of green filled his vision. The man flinched, although he tightened his grip on both the stick and bottle. Before he could recover, however, a huge crash of sound and water prefaced a ship surfacing no more than a hundred yards out to sea. It was a strange ship, with tattered sails and an almost organic shape to it. And a man rode at the very top, balanced on the riggings, a man with dark hair pulled into ponytails, or something, one hardened by the seas and yet still attractive. The man on the shore raised the bottle above his head, and the man at the top of the masts grinned and swung to the decks, dove into the ocean, and was on shore in only a few moments.
"It's good to see a mate knowing well enough to greet a sailor with rum," the man, now soaked, announced, reaching for the bottle. The hooded, robed man snatched the bottle backwards.
"Are you Jack Sparrow?"
"In the flesh," the boatman replied, sweeping a triangular hat from his head in order to bow to the hooded man. "So to speak, of course."
"You are the psychopomp."
Jack narrowed his eyes for a moment. "There have indeed been men who have questioned my mental capacities, but I frankly ignore that sort of talk, as it undermines morale among the crew-"
"You are the captain of the 'Flying Dutchman'," the hooded man demanded, "charged with carrying the souls of the dead to the netherworld. Is this correct?"
"I am, in fact, *Captain* Jack Sparrow, yes. And I do only have a day's leave, so I'd like to get moving as soon as possible."
"I wish three boons from you, Jack Sparrow." And upon saying this, the man held out the bottle again. Jack watched it, carefully, and licked his lips. Then his gaze drifted, slowly, to the right, where dozens of bottles and kegs rested, some upright and others sideways, all now belonging to the sea, and, therefore, to him.
"Well, as much as I'm willing to trade favors for an adequate supply of rum, mate, I'm afraid your stash doesn't...measure up. I might be willing to trade a favor, if that's particularly good rum, but-"
At Jack's refusal, the man tipped up the bottle, spilling its contents onto the shore.
"Oh, no, mate! You have to know when I'm bluffing. I would've taken the rum; you didn't have to waste it."
The hooded man looked at Jack, and for the first time, the ferryman of the dead met his eyes. He had looked into the face of death before. He had once been willing to do anything to avoid death. But now, he saw in the other man's eyes a look that shook him to the core. This man had already damned himself to stave off death. This man was willing to do far more. Even though he knew it beat elsewhere, safe and protected, Jack grabbed at where his heart should be, fearful that this man sought to replace him, send him on to the lands beyond.
The man righted the empty bottle and corked it. Then, silently, he uncorked it, and upended it again. Rum spilled from the neck of the bottle onto the beach. Jack watched in open-mouthed amazement.
"Tha...that's..."
"An enchanted bottle, one that will never empty, Captain. What would you do, I wonder, for as much rum as you could ever dream of?"
And Jack licked his lips, one of those unconscious gestures people never seemed to learn how to control, and the man on the beach restrained from smiling.
"Well, I think we might be able to reach some kind of accord..."
"Then first, Jack, there's a package here I want you to keep safe. Keep it aboard the ship, if you like. Or, if you like, you can keep my heart with yours."
Rating: For All Ages
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean / Harry Potter
Summary: A favor is asked of a very special man...
I've got a lot of random drabbles floating around, things that I like because they are based on weird ideas, but I probably won't expand. I like this one, even though it sort of begs more to it.
The coast wasn't on any map. Though it was Unplottable, people knew of the place, speaking of the traditions of floating rum down the river, assured that it would come here, and making certain that the donor would find luck on the open seas.
But the man standing on the cliffs overlooking this coast was not looking for luck on the open seas, nor was he one of the credulous fools who send bottles of rum into the ocean in the hopes that the Ferryman would spare them. He had come for his own reasons, and knew exactly what he was doing.
The box in which he had placed his treasure sat next to him on the grass. He could hear the soft rhythm from within it, a strange, organic sound that not only filled him with revulsion, but horror, as well. Within this box was the last trace of his mortality, the last piece of the puzzle. And now, he was to take that last piece, and ensure it would never be found.
Far in the distance, the sun drifted into the horizon. The man reached into the wide sleeves of his robe and removed a long stick of yew; this he held lightly in one hand. He then picked up the box and began climbing down the cliff to the shoreline. By the time the sun had nearly set, he had placed the box down again on the sand by the edge of the water. He removed a heavy bottle from within the confines of his robes and let it drop to his side, swinging it absent-mindedly.
Then the sun dropped below the horizon, and a flash of green filled his vision. The man flinched, although he tightened his grip on both the stick and bottle. Before he could recover, however, a huge crash of sound and water prefaced a ship surfacing no more than a hundred yards out to sea. It was a strange ship, with tattered sails and an almost organic shape to it. And a man rode at the very top, balanced on the riggings, a man with dark hair pulled into ponytails, or something, one hardened by the seas and yet still attractive. The man on the shore raised the bottle above his head, and the man at the top of the masts grinned and swung to the decks, dove into the ocean, and was on shore in only a few moments.
"It's good to see a mate knowing well enough to greet a sailor with rum," the man, now soaked, announced, reaching for the bottle. The hooded, robed man snatched the bottle backwards.
"Are you Jack Sparrow?"
"In the flesh," the boatman replied, sweeping a triangular hat from his head in order to bow to the hooded man. "So to speak, of course."
"You are the psychopomp."
Jack narrowed his eyes for a moment. "There have indeed been men who have questioned my mental capacities, but I frankly ignore that sort of talk, as it undermines morale among the crew-"
"You are the captain of the 'Flying Dutchman'," the hooded man demanded, "charged with carrying the souls of the dead to the netherworld. Is this correct?"
"I am, in fact, *Captain* Jack Sparrow, yes. And I do only have a day's leave, so I'd like to get moving as soon as possible."
"I wish three boons from you, Jack Sparrow." And upon saying this, the man held out the bottle again. Jack watched it, carefully, and licked his lips. Then his gaze drifted, slowly, to the right, where dozens of bottles and kegs rested, some upright and others sideways, all now belonging to the sea, and, therefore, to him.
"Well, as much as I'm willing to trade favors for an adequate supply of rum, mate, I'm afraid your stash doesn't...measure up. I might be willing to trade a favor, if that's particularly good rum, but-"
At Jack's refusal, the man tipped up the bottle, spilling its contents onto the shore.
"Oh, no, mate! You have to know when I'm bluffing. I would've taken the rum; you didn't have to waste it."
The hooded man looked at Jack, and for the first time, the ferryman of the dead met his eyes. He had looked into the face of death before. He had once been willing to do anything to avoid death. But now, he saw in the other man's eyes a look that shook him to the core. This man had already damned himself to stave off death. This man was willing to do far more. Even though he knew it beat elsewhere, safe and protected, Jack grabbed at where his heart should be, fearful that this man sought to replace him, send him on to the lands beyond.
The man righted the empty bottle and corked it. Then, silently, he uncorked it, and upended it again. Rum spilled from the neck of the bottle onto the beach. Jack watched in open-mouthed amazement.
"Tha...that's..."
"An enchanted bottle, one that will never empty, Captain. What would you do, I wonder, for as much rum as you could ever dream of?"
And Jack licked his lips, one of those unconscious gestures people never seemed to learn how to control, and the man on the beach restrained from smiling.
"Well, I think we might be able to reach some kind of accord..."
"Then first, Jack, there's a package here I want you to keep safe. Keep it aboard the ship, if you like. Or, if you like, you can keep my heart with yours."