A Vignette and a Drabble - tah-dah!
Shock and amazement! I've been visited by a Pirate muse or three, and have a wee bit of something to share. For your reading pleasure, I present a vignette and a ... erm, double-drabble thingie. :-)
First will come the vignette. This is my gentle attempt to redeem Will just a little, as sometimes fan fiction seems to paint him as a bit of a stick. To do the things he did, as boldly as he did, I don't find him a stick at all. He simply had the ill-luck to be compared to Captain Jack Sparrow, and mates, we all know that is robins to peacocks. *G* The overweight drabble will follow immediately after.
TO TAKE FLIGHT
By ErinRua
A man after all had to make a living. Will Turner told himself this many times.
He knew his craft better than most, the pleasure of creation flowing in his veins, burning through his sinews in ways that defied words. To watch dull steel come alive in the fire's heart, elemental, violent, malleable; to see glowing metal drawn into perfect form beneath his hammer - this formed the apex of his days.
But other days, oh other days his spirit curled in sullen stillness, and he cloaked affront in practice layers of humility.
"Yes, Master Thistlewaite, I know you need those hinges soon."
"Soon!" sputtered Thistlewaite, ruddy jowls trembling. "I need them by Saturday at the latest."
"Of course, sir. However, I must complete my orders as I receive them. You understand."
"Oh, I see your trick, young man. Your pirate friends have taught you well!" Beady eyes gleamed button-hard. A plump hand dove into a pocket and reappeared to thrust a jingling purse in Will's face. "This should buy your haste, I warrant!"
Steely coolness settled in Will's belly, and he took a step back. "I shall have your hinges by Friday noon, and not a moment sooner or later. Good day, Master Thistlewaite."
The door slammed on blessed silence. Yet when Will looked about the forge, he felt the man's angry presence clinging like a lingering fog. He sighed and looked to his workbench, neatly cluttered with the tools of his trade, and then to the hammer still dangling in his hand. Abruptly he spun and hurled it to smash against the far wall.
The door closed behind him a moment later.
~ *~
Blazing empty sky, white sand, blue water surging and retreating and heaving all the way to the horizon; a man would be made of stone not to feel the sea's majesty. Will walked where the salt breeze cooled his brow, and he removed his waistcoat to let it tug at his shirt.
Somehow, he was not surprised to find, on a certain cliff at a certain cove with a wide-open view of the sea, a slender figure standing alone. As he drew near, sand softening his footsteps, he watched. She did not move but for the flutter of her hems, her arms clasped about herself. Then in a swift motion, she swept the pins from her hair and shook her honeyed tresses to tumble free about her shoulders. His heart sprang up and clung beating in his throat.
"Elizabeth," he breathed, "Wife," ere he wrapped her in his arms.
Elizabeth leant back into his sheltering strength, and they did not speak for a time, while she clasped his hands to her stomach. She smelled of lavender and the sea.
"The gardener's son was caught pick-pocketing today," she finally said. "I feel so dreadful for the boy."
"At his age he should know better."
"That's not the point." Sudden sharpness to her tone, sudden stiffness in his embrace. "I do not want the ordering of other people's lives. Let his father wield the rod and make the apologies."
"Whose pocket was it?"
Elizabeth exhaled heavily. "The mayor's."
"Oh, dear."
"And as the boy is attached to the governor's household, naturally the blame comes to us. As my father is away in meetings in Barbados, naturally they come to me. Confound people!"
She abandoned him in sudden anger, striding to the cliff's edge and halting rigidly. Oh, her beauty transfixed him, slim and fierce against the bright sea, like tall sails before the wind.
Will remained where he stood, earthbound and helpless.
"Barque," she said, and lifted a slender hand to point.
Far, far away a tiny tower of sails shimmered beneath the Caribbean sun.
"Yes."
"And there. Three-masted ship."
Elizabeth drew him as she always had, hungry for the perfect fit of her against his chest, his stomach, his heart. Will bowed his cheek into her hair, though his eyes remained on the skyline.
"Who do you suppose her captain is?" he asked.
"Someone bold and dashing," she firmly replied. Her cool fingers clasped over his once more. "Stern but fair. His men adore him but they also fear him."
Will smiled and rocked her gently. "What do pirates think of him?"
"They do not trouble him, because his ship is swift, and they know he and his men are fierce in battle and ask no quarter."
He felt the soft lift and fall of her breathing. He felt the giddy danger of the cliff at their feet. He felt distance and space, and the smallness of their island amidst all the broad, glittering sea. And he thought about Master Thistlewaite's hinges.
"I am told," he said, "The Princess Ann sets sail for Montserrat."
"Oh?"
"She'll stop in Santo Domingo, possibly San Juan, as she goes. Then Martinique, St. Vincent."
Elizabeth held very still. Yonder on the sea, the tiny ship quartered away towards the unknown.
He said, "By the end of August, she may go as far as Trinidad."
"Spanish ports," Elizabeth said with a sniff. "Doing business with thieves and scoundrels."
"Of course. Scoundrels and thieves often pay the highest value." He tilted his head to view the side of her face. "And Spanish steel is the best to be had."
"What are you talking about, Mr. Turner?"
"I am saying, Mrs. Turner, that a swordsmith, a very good swordsmith, might find worthwhile ventures in trade. But he should investigate his prospects in person. And he should have a shrewd business manager at his side."
She turned in the circle of his arms, eyes luminous, lips slightly parted. His own smile grew in direct proportion to the joyful realization that transformed her expression.
"When?"
"Saturday on the tide."
"Have you spoken to the ship's master?"
"Not yet. Actually, I thought of it just now."
"And after Trinidad?"
"Who can say where the winds might blow us?"
"But we can't just ..."
Elizabeth caught herself on the barb of her own hesitation, eyes sparkling, smile gleaming white. She spun away and seized her skirts, and stopped short again, just where he could admire the clean, smooth curve of her throat as she turned her face to the sea.
"Yes," she said fiercely, and looked at him with glory in her eyes. "Yes, we can!"
And the sea wind lifted the silk of her hair, the linen of her gown, and filled the sails of her dreams, bearing her already away from him. Yet he need only reach out his hand to join her in flight, for all the world spread at their feet, boundless and shimmering to a far blue horizon.
~ Fin ~
~ * ~ * ~
UNTITLED
Elizabeth thought she knew him. From the shy beauty of his smile to the gentle deference of his manner, from the mischief that twinkled in his brown eyes to the fragile gentleness of his touch, she knew him. She adored the solemn boy whom she loved to goad to laughter. And she took deliciously wicked delight in the youth, in his endearing awkwardness as her hair went up, her hems came down and she learned to smile from behind an Oriental fan.
She thought she knew him. Until fantasy and nightmares collided, while curses and coins forged their own grim reality. In one great detonation of thunder and strewn timbers, her dreams collapsed into the sea.
But then he rose from the clutch of death, dripping, defiant and beautiful.
"She goes free!" he demanded. And then, with iron that she had never known he possessed, "My name is Will Turner. My father was Bootstrap Bill Turner. His blood runs in my veins. On my word do as I say or I'll pull this trigger and be lost to Davy Jones' Locker!"
Then she realized she had not known him at all.
~ * ~ * ~
First will come the vignette. This is my gentle attempt to redeem Will just a little, as sometimes fan fiction seems to paint him as a bit of a stick. To do the things he did, as boldly as he did, I don't find him a stick at all. He simply had the ill-luck to be compared to Captain Jack Sparrow, and mates, we all know that is robins to peacocks. *G* The overweight drabble will follow immediately after.
TO TAKE FLIGHT
By ErinRua
A man after all had to make a living. Will Turner told himself this many times.
He knew his craft better than most, the pleasure of creation flowing in his veins, burning through his sinews in ways that defied words. To watch dull steel come alive in the fire's heart, elemental, violent, malleable; to see glowing metal drawn into perfect form beneath his hammer - this formed the apex of his days.
But other days, oh other days his spirit curled in sullen stillness, and he cloaked affront in practice layers of humility.
"Yes, Master Thistlewaite, I know you need those hinges soon."
"Soon!" sputtered Thistlewaite, ruddy jowls trembling. "I need them by Saturday at the latest."
"Of course, sir. However, I must complete my orders as I receive them. You understand."
"Oh, I see your trick, young man. Your pirate friends have taught you well!" Beady eyes gleamed button-hard. A plump hand dove into a pocket and reappeared to thrust a jingling purse in Will's face. "This should buy your haste, I warrant!"
Steely coolness settled in Will's belly, and he took a step back. "I shall have your hinges by Friday noon, and not a moment sooner or later. Good day, Master Thistlewaite."
The door slammed on blessed silence. Yet when Will looked about the forge, he felt the man's angry presence clinging like a lingering fog. He sighed and looked to his workbench, neatly cluttered with the tools of his trade, and then to the hammer still dangling in his hand. Abruptly he spun and hurled it to smash against the far wall.
The door closed behind him a moment later.
~ *~
Blazing empty sky, white sand, blue water surging and retreating and heaving all the way to the horizon; a man would be made of stone not to feel the sea's majesty. Will walked where the salt breeze cooled his brow, and he removed his waistcoat to let it tug at his shirt.
Somehow, he was not surprised to find, on a certain cliff at a certain cove with a wide-open view of the sea, a slender figure standing alone. As he drew near, sand softening his footsteps, he watched. She did not move but for the flutter of her hems, her arms clasped about herself. Then in a swift motion, she swept the pins from her hair and shook her honeyed tresses to tumble free about her shoulders. His heart sprang up and clung beating in his throat.
"Elizabeth," he breathed, "Wife," ere he wrapped her in his arms.
Elizabeth leant back into his sheltering strength, and they did not speak for a time, while she clasped his hands to her stomach. She smelled of lavender and the sea.
"The gardener's son was caught pick-pocketing today," she finally said. "I feel so dreadful for the boy."
"At his age he should know better."
"That's not the point." Sudden sharpness to her tone, sudden stiffness in his embrace. "I do not want the ordering of other people's lives. Let his father wield the rod and make the apologies."
"Whose pocket was it?"
Elizabeth exhaled heavily. "The mayor's."
"Oh, dear."
"And as the boy is attached to the governor's household, naturally the blame comes to us. As my father is away in meetings in Barbados, naturally they come to me. Confound people!"
She abandoned him in sudden anger, striding to the cliff's edge and halting rigidly. Oh, her beauty transfixed him, slim and fierce against the bright sea, like tall sails before the wind.
Will remained where he stood, earthbound and helpless.
"Barque," she said, and lifted a slender hand to point.
Far, far away a tiny tower of sails shimmered beneath the Caribbean sun.
"Yes."
"And there. Three-masted ship."
Elizabeth drew him as she always had, hungry for the perfect fit of her against his chest, his stomach, his heart. Will bowed his cheek into her hair, though his eyes remained on the skyline.
"Who do you suppose her captain is?" he asked.
"Someone bold and dashing," she firmly replied. Her cool fingers clasped over his once more. "Stern but fair. His men adore him but they also fear him."
Will smiled and rocked her gently. "What do pirates think of him?"
"They do not trouble him, because his ship is swift, and they know he and his men are fierce in battle and ask no quarter."
He felt the soft lift and fall of her breathing. He felt the giddy danger of the cliff at their feet. He felt distance and space, and the smallness of their island amidst all the broad, glittering sea. And he thought about Master Thistlewaite's hinges.
"I am told," he said, "The Princess Ann sets sail for Montserrat."
"Oh?"
"She'll stop in Santo Domingo, possibly San Juan, as she goes. Then Martinique, St. Vincent."
Elizabeth held very still. Yonder on the sea, the tiny ship quartered away towards the unknown.
He said, "By the end of August, she may go as far as Trinidad."
"Spanish ports," Elizabeth said with a sniff. "Doing business with thieves and scoundrels."
"Of course. Scoundrels and thieves often pay the highest value." He tilted his head to view the side of her face. "And Spanish steel is the best to be had."
"What are you talking about, Mr. Turner?"
"I am saying, Mrs. Turner, that a swordsmith, a very good swordsmith, might find worthwhile ventures in trade. But he should investigate his prospects in person. And he should have a shrewd business manager at his side."
She turned in the circle of his arms, eyes luminous, lips slightly parted. His own smile grew in direct proportion to the joyful realization that transformed her expression.
"When?"
"Saturday on the tide."
"Have you spoken to the ship's master?"
"Not yet. Actually, I thought of it just now."
"And after Trinidad?"
"Who can say where the winds might blow us?"
"But we can't just ..."
Elizabeth caught herself on the barb of her own hesitation, eyes sparkling, smile gleaming white. She spun away and seized her skirts, and stopped short again, just where he could admire the clean, smooth curve of her throat as she turned her face to the sea.
"Yes," she said fiercely, and looked at him with glory in her eyes. "Yes, we can!"
And the sea wind lifted the silk of her hair, the linen of her gown, and filled the sails of her dreams, bearing her already away from him. Yet he need only reach out his hand to join her in flight, for all the world spread at their feet, boundless and shimmering to a far blue horizon.
~ Fin ~
~ * ~ * ~
UNTITLED
Elizabeth thought she knew him. From the shy beauty of his smile to the gentle deference of his manner, from the mischief that twinkled in his brown eyes to the fragile gentleness of his touch, she knew him. She adored the solemn boy whom she loved to goad to laughter. And she took deliciously wicked delight in the youth, in his endearing awkwardness as her hair went up, her hems came down and she learned to smile from behind an Oriental fan.
She thought she knew him. Until fantasy and nightmares collided, while curses and coins forged their own grim reality. In one great detonation of thunder and strewn timbers, her dreams collapsed into the sea.
But then he rose from the clutch of death, dripping, defiant and beautiful.
"She goes free!" he demanded. And then, with iron that she had never known he possessed, "My name is Will Turner. My father was Bootstrap Bill Turner. His blood runs in my veins. On my word do as I say or I'll pull this trigger and be lost to Davy Jones' Locker!"
Then she realized she had not known him at all.
~ * ~ * ~