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Staring out over the darkening ocean, Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder what might've become of them, in a world where Jack hadn't hesitated aboard the Dutchman. If he'd managed to stab Davy Jones' heart before the cursed captain could take his revenge on Will. If the chaotically inclined Captain Sparrow had become Calypso's lone ferryman, leaving the newlyweds to sail off together into the sunset. What a difference a few seconds might have made – and yet, for all its immediate joys, she suspected the sweetness of that life would have turned to gall in the end. The months since that first parley aboard the Black Pearl had taught her more than enough about her own nature to subscribe to any ordinary happy ending.
Besides, she was fairly certain those few seconds' delay would have consequences enough for Jack – and therefore she and Will – as it was. Eventually, the wayward pirate would turn up again; sooner rather than later, if her suspicions were correct. But in the meantime, Elizabeth had more than enough to be getting on with maintaining the fate she had achieved. She may have lost Sao Feng's ship and crew, and the Fourth Brethren Court may have already dispersed and taken her crown with them, but among the many things she had learned from Jack was: once a pirate lord, always a pirate lord. Also: take what you want, give nothing back. She'd had a taste of being Captain Swann and excelled at it, and bedamned if she was going to retire to a lighthouse somewhere and pine away the next ten years just because she was now also Mrs. Turner.
There was nothing waiting for her in Port Royal; with Lord Beckett last in residence at the governor's house, she had no idea if any of her possessions had survived her arrest, hasty negotiation, and subsequent flight, and certainly no one she loved yet remained there to draw her back. Her current assets might be reduced to the clothes on her back, her sword, a handful of coins, a dinghy, and the contents of a particular chest; but more famous pirate captains had started with less, and she was still near Shipwreck Island, on a beach just a short row from the Cove. There, she could trade dinghy and coin for something a little larger: a periagua at least, a ship just big enough for a couple of dozen men.
She was sure she'd be able to persuade at least that many to sail with her, for novelty's sake and the touch of destiny in calling her their captain if nothing else; and after that, all it would take would be one fortuitous encounter with an insufficiently alert merchant vessel to put them right back in business. With a seaworthy vessel under her control, she could put this place and its memories behind her, perhaps pick up the remnants of Sao Feng's empire in the South China Sea; it wouldn't be as easy as sailing back and reminding them he'd chosen her as his successor, of course, but in the chaos left behind by the East India Trading Company's attack there would be opportunities. And it hardly mattered which sea she sailed when her husband was bound to them all.
Best begin as she meant to be getting on, then; night was falling fast now that the sun had slipped below the horizon. Elizabeth rubbed her hands over her arms, shivering a little as the breeze kicked up, already missing Will's touch, then sighed and strode into the lapping edge of the surf to launch the dinghy. She tried to imagine herself at eighteen again, before Jack's arrival – all soft hands, tightly laced dresses, and lofty refined hairstyles – picking up those oars with the intent of breaking a sweat, and laughed at herself; she had thought herself such a rebel then, but her horizons had been so limited. She'd had no idea.
Spirits buoyant once more, she set her grip on the handles and got to work.
Years ago, when Elizabeth and her father had first left England, one of the sailors on Lieutenant Norrington's ship had pressed a copy of My Lyfe Amonge the Pyrates into her hands to distract her from constantly asking them questions. Sir Henry Morgan – who'd ended his days as Lieutenant Governor of Jamaica, the very land to which they were sailing – had already of course been a feature of her bedtime tales; but names like Bartolomeu Português and Henry Avery had been new to her, and she'd read avidly of their conquests and romantic lifestyles and the treasures they'd sought, much to her father's dismay when he'd discovered her perusing its pages by lanternlight. Will Turner dropping into her life immediately thereafter amid a flurry of black sails, pirate medallion strung around his neck, had catalysed childish interest into a lifelong fascination, one that had led inexorably to her present course.
It was a life full of wonders and horrors, both more terrible and more amazing than anything she'd read about in that famous book. With such a wide variety of people in it: fierce and vivid, as if they lived at all times at the surface of their skins, rather than stifled and suffocated by societal expectations. Most of them died young, burnt up by their wild lives like a candle lit at both ends ... but obviously not all, as the man still seated at the Brethren Court's table when Elizabeth threaded her way there through the maze of old ships that made up the pirate haven could attest.
"Your Majesty," Captain Teague said dryly, looking up from his guitar. "Leave something behind?"
A string of notes faded into the air between them as his fingers stilled, a fragment of a recently familiar, haunting song. Would it ever be sung again, now that the nine pieces of eight and the achievement they had memorialised were no more? Would the Brethren Court outlast the modern world's efforts to ink in all the lacunae of their maps? Only time would tell – but if there were any community adaptable enough to forge a new path amidst that change, this would be the one. And she meant to do the same, not be left stranded like seawrack on an ebb tide.
"Many things," she replied with a faint smile, "as I'm sure you already know. But nothing here, exactly. I'd hoped to remedy that lack, though, before I barter for a new ship and a new crew."
His gaze dropped to the chest she clutched in front of her, then back up to her face, expression sceptical and deeply creased. He knew what she spoke of, plainly; and just as plainly didn't believe her. "You'd leave that where any passing pirate might take it?"
"No," Elizabeth replied bluntly, raising her eyebrows at him. "I'd leave it with one specific pirate whom no one would suspect, and even if they did would hesitate to cross."
She'd put some thought into it before carrying the chest up out of the dinghy; the traditional route of course would have been to bury it somewhere safe, but that would be just asking to have it dug up again the moment she sailed away. Anyone who knew that Davy Jones had been sent to his own locker would know to whom the refilled chest must have been entrusted; retracing her steps would not be difficult for any pirate who'd attended the recent gathering. And she couldn't exactly keep it with her; carrying it onto a ship full of strange pirates would be like waving a red rag before a bull. But she'd seen Captain Teague defend the Codex – and overheard some of what he'd said to Jack. She doubted she'd ever fully trust another human being again, but if ever there was a pirate she thought wouldn't be tempted to stab Will's heart, it was Jack's father.
"And why, exactly, should said pirate agree to keep it?" he asked her, plucking out a few more wistful notes.
The seas be ours, and by the powers....
"Because it belongs to Jack at least as much as it does to me," she shrugged. Both literally and metaphorically speaking: Will had had one eye on the horizon since the moment he'd first met Jack, as much as he'd obviously still loved her, and Jack's hand had been clasped over his as they thrust the knife into Davy Jones' heart. As gestures went, that one was fairly considerable. And as a resolution to the conundrum she'd faced after the compass first pointed to Jack in her hand, she found that more inspiring than otherwise. "Because you have as much interest in the stability of the seas as any pirate, and more, since you're already Keeper of the Code." She nodded to the book still lying open on the table in front of him. "And because I'll owe you a crewman's share of every treasure I take while it remains in your possession."
"Treasure, honour, and loyalty," he mused, snorting. "You're learning quickly, lass. I'm almost tempted to agree just for that. But you know what follows you now. The next Beckett to seek to control the seas won't need the heart to control the Dutchman; he'll just need you. And even if you make it the decade, I'm no spring chicken."
She'd had that thought, too. "Even better that I stay at sea, then, where Will can always find me when I call. And it needn't be an entire decade. Just long enough to get our affairs in order enough to make other arrangements. Let me reestablish my position; let Will clear the backlog of Davy Jones' duties; let Jack have time to realise what exactly he's got himself into. Call it a honeymoon gift, if you'd like."
"Cheeky," he said, but she could tell he was definitely thinking about it. "You put a lot of faith in Jack."
"I wouldn't call it faith," she shrugged. "Recognition, perhaps? He's a man with a plan and an excuse for everything – but I've also seen who he is when he's stripped of all of that, and that's a man the world would be poorer without."
"I suppose I can't ask for fairer than that," Captain Teague said. For a moment, something distant and pained flashed in his gaze; then he shook his head and set the guitar next to the Codex. "I assume you'll be keeping the key?"
"Best I don't tell you where," she said, relief nearly making her giddy. "Thank you. You won't regret this."
"I don't regret anything," he snorted. "You'd not be the one to change that."
"Because you're Captain Teague?" Elizabeth couldn't resist venturing to tease.
"Because I'm Captain Teague, Pirate Lord, of three generations of Pirate Lords ... although I'd just about given up on there being a fourth," he chuckled, walking round the table. "There do be miracles in this world, yet. Fair winds and following seas, Captain Swann."
She gave him a dirty look at the insinuation, but handed the chest over gratefully, nonetheless. "If you see Jack before I do, tell him I hope he realises he brought it all on himself?"
"You do learn quickly," he replied wryly, nodding to her as she turned to leave.
Faint notes followed her back down the corridor as she headed to the night's next task, and she found herself humming again as she walked, heart full of possibility. No, no ordinary happy ending indeed.
Where we will, we'll roam.
As it happened, it was only a couple of months before she saw Captain Jack Sparrow again. Elizabeth's plan to recruit a small number of sailors from amongst the residents of Shipwreck Cove had gone with barely a hitch, and it had taken only a few weeks to find and ambush a merchant ship large enough to be useful yet ill-defended enough to strike their colours at the mere sight of a couple of dozen pirates swarming their deck. She'd aspirationally renamed it Piece of Eight, in place of the jade Captain's knot Sao Feng had given her, and promptly returned to the Cove for refitting. Once armed with a sufficient quantity of cannon, she'd then sailed south, intending to solidify the crew under her command with a few more easy prizes before heading for Cape Horn. She hadn't heard from Will yet, though that had been expected; Davy Jones had been neglecting his duties for a very long time. Jack, though – she'd been half-hoping for black sails over every horizon for weeks.
It wasn't the fastest ship in the Caribbean that brought him back to her side, though. Elizabeth had been standing at the window of her captain's cabin, staring out at the setting sun with one hand pressed contemplatively to her midsection, when a strange shuddering groan passed through the wooden frame of the ship. Then heavy bootsteps sounded behind her on the decking where none should be. She whirled round, heart in her throat, convinced Will had found his way to her at last – but her gaze caught on a familiar eccentric pirate instead, swaying gently in front of the nearest bulkhead with a very disconcerted expression on his face.
Well, that was certainly conclusive, wasn't it? "Jack!" she gasped.
He blinked, then focused on her, narrowing kohl-marked eyes as though squinting at a far horizon. "Well. If it isn't the distressing damsel," he said, though his tone was considerably more bemused than it had been the last time they'd met after an extended separation. Then he glanced back at the bulkhead, and a shudder passed through his shoulders. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."
"Have you come from the Dutchman, then?" she replied, a delighted grin pulling at her cheeks.
"No, though it's interesting you should say that," he said, wagging a finger at her as he took a few rolling steps in her direction. "Had a spot of trouble aboard the Pearl, wished meself briefly elsewhere, and unexpectedly arrived that elsewhere. Remarkable how unsurprised Captain Teague was to see me step out of a bulkhead aboard the Troubadour... and how pleased he was to pass on your message."
Not the news she'd hoped for most; but nearly as good, and she was glad to see him in any case. "Well, you do only have yourself to blame," she replied, warmly. "Oh, it's good to see you, Jack. Though I wouldn't have minded the company of the Black Pearl as well; the Piece of Eight isn't as intimidating a ship as I'd like. What sort of trouble did you find this time?"
"I don't think I deserve that tone, especially since I'm guessing you might be more at fault for that than I am, love," he said dryly, hooking his thumbs through his sword belt. "Or at least, your soon-to-be-barnacled husband. After leaving you to properly celebrate your nuptials, we sailed for the nearest port not liable to be picked clean by all the other scalawags celebrating after the battle. Whence I found myself entirely unable to step off the dock upon our arrival."
Calypso's promised 'one day every ten years' must have come and gone during their sail; had he really had no suspicions? "That must have been awkward."
"Awkward, she says," he repeated dryly, giving her an affronted look. "Enough so that a certain ex-mate of mine, despite not having signed any articles that might entitle him to such liberties, used it as leverage to hold a vote against me, claimed a certain map as the spoils of captainship, discovered a few ... irregularities in its preservation, most egregiously violated me personal boundaries, and finally threw me into me own brig. Which unfortunately does not have half-barrel hinges. I may have done a spot of incautious leaning whilst thinking uncharitable thoughts about what Captain Teague would have to say about that."
"That long ago?" Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows. As entertaining and completely of a piece with what she knew of Jack and Barbossa as that story was, it would have to have happened weeks ago. "So how is it my problem that you're not here with the Pearl? Didn't you step right back?"
That finally shook some of his feigned self-righteous indignation; he murmured something under his breath to the effect of heat of the moment and didn't half believe it would even work as he strolled affectedly past her toward the stern windows and posed there, darting sideways looks at her as he pointed his chin toward the sea "...And anyway," he cleared his throat, raising his voice again, "given the obvious provocation, and the crabification of Tia Dalma, you were obviously the one to speak to first."
"Instead of Will, the actual captain of the Flying Dutchman?" she shook her head, a wry fondness welling up in her. Jack was far from a perfect man, or even a very good one at times, but as she'd learned much about her own nature and limitations since they'd first met, the sharp edges of her judgment of others had also been worn down in favour of appreciating their finer qualities. He and Will had both represented freedom to her at different times and in differing ways; and in following their examples she had learnt to achieve her own and anticipate sharing it on equal terms. Provided the matter was presented properly, of course. "You know he wouldn't have kept you there, not if you didn't want to be. You paid your debt to Davy Jones."
"Have I, then?" Jack gave her an incredulous look, then gestured widely between himself and the bulkhead. "You can see how I might be confused, given the whole part of the ship, scourge of the sea bit. Smacks a little too much of 'one hundred years before the mast' to me."
"Give me a little more credit than that, Jack," Elizabeth scoffed. "And yourself as well. It was your hand that guided the knife; I was not the only one to bind myself to Will that day."
A brooding frown drew his brows together. "But there's only room for one captain aboard a ship such as that. Your charming blacksmith's the one with the 'touch of destiny', not me."
Elizabeth shrugged. "I don't suppose Calypso initially intended the role to be shared, but are you surprised she seized the opportunity presented? The seas are a lot more crowded than they were when she first created the role of ferryman. And you do – or did – already have a ghost ship of your own, do you not?"
He stared at her for a moment, wide-eyed, then began patting at all his pockets until he came up with a flask that undoubtedly contained rum. He held up a halting finger, then took a long draught before tucking the flask away again and shaking his head sharply like a wet dog. "You actually want me keeping your husband company for all eternity. Why? Not that I don't appreciate the lack of jealousy – except as how I don't, since it does make me wonder about the value of the prize – that seems contrariwise to all your earlier ambitions."
"Can you really picture me in some little cottage somewhere," she replied, lifting her eyebrows at him, "reduced to the role of anchor for a self-martyring psychopomp? Or him being content with that, either, after what happened to his father? Really, it's no wonder Calypso wasn't waiting when Davy Jones at last went looking; he could have sent letters, at least, or dropped in on her betimes. She's the goddess of the sea. And I'm a Pirate Lord. Knowing Will has other connections – and will continue to have, even if anything happens to me – frees me to pursue my own horizons and share what joy may there be found."
"Does he know you plan to go around sharing such willy-nilly?" Jack reeled back, affecting surprise. "My days of suspecting him of being a eunuch are certainly coming to a middle."
Elizabeth laughed. "If you're so concerned about the contents of his trousers, feel free to investigate; I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. We chose this life, Jack; why are you surprised we intend to go about living it unconventionally? After all those months we spent trying to get you back ... I understand if you can't forgive me, but when I said share, I meant it. We'll all be sailing the seas together, hopefully for a very long time. And after all, you are Captain Jack Sparrow."
"I am, aren't I?" he said.
He spoke the words as lightly as always – but she could see something else there in the depths of his dark gaze, something warily intrigued, already half-caught despite himself and willing to perhaps be convinced. That wouldn't happen in a day, any more than acquiring her new ship had, or anything else worth doing; but it was, after all, a long-term project. It only remained to entice him into thinking he was the one doing the chasing and she and Will were the ones who were being caught.
"So go get your ship back," she said, reaching out to rest a hand on the lapels of his sea-weathered jacket. "Plot your next course. And pass on my love to Will, if you would? Now that I'm properly at sea again, I expect neither of you to be a stranger."
The kiss she pressed to his lips was less desperate than the last, and a little more lingering; but it tasted just as much of salt. She heard the catch in his breath before he pulled away, and wondered impertinently if he would pass it on as given; yet another thing that would have scandalised her eighteen-year-old self.
But that Elizabeth Swann's future had been locked into a pattern as confining as any corset; she'd traded those expectations for guidelines, propriety for freedom, and safety for a life full of challenge. Risks as well, of course, and there would undoubtedly be even more difficulties ahead of her than those she'd already surmounted, but she'd evaluated the rewards and judged them worth it.
Jack broke away after a moment, taking a wary step back, then quirked a smile and swept her an exaggerated bow. "If you say so. It's been ... disorienting as always, love," he proclaimed, then turned toward the bulkhead with a swaggering stride and vanished just as suddenly as he'd appeared.
She smiled, then turned her gaze back to the sea, listening to the creaking of her ship and the sounds of her crew at work. It would be supper soon, the last of the captured fresh provisions; and hopefully a new sail to chase on the morrow. What more could an adventurously inclined woman ask for?
A pirate's life for me.