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Disclaimer: Er. Disney owns Wil, Captain Jack, Elizabeth, Norrington... You get the drift. I do not own them, nor do I profit from their use. Except that Norrington is Jack in Coupling, and I can never take him seriously ("Yes, well, that's enough, thank you, Jeff." *silence* "My God, I've got him in-built now. Help.")
Rating: Eh. Gish. And much thanks to Republica. Perfect background music for this. Dedication: For my Kosling, who was so unwise as to mention this sort of thing.
Forging A Destiny Pardoned. There was a wry kind of irony in that, Wil Turner reflected as he carefully polished the sword he was holding. He'd gone to save the woman he loved, and in return, he was what? Pardoned. By Norrington, no less. Although his eyes had been glacially cold, at least he hadn't been dismissive this time. Commodore Norrington liked to think of himself as ruthless and eifficient. Wil wrinkled his nose and considered the slight spot that lay on the blade near the midpoint. Norridge was a fool. He seemed to believe that Wil could let it all go. His past, Elizabeth's future--and Jack. In the end, didn't it always come back to Jack? "That's *Captain* Jack Sparrow." His memory whispered to him, the emphasis irritated. Wil half-smiled. Captain Jack, then. It all came back to the master of deception and trickery. A pirate who even now was locked securely in the dungeons of Port Royale's fort. A dungeon Wil had freed him from once before. But not this time. This time, he was to remain a good and loyal subject of His Majesty. To free Jack would be to destroy all hope of Elizabeth's regard not to mention his own life. Unless he became a pirate as his father had been. Wil wasn't entirely sure he could do that. He also wasn't sure that he hadn't been a pirate from the moment he freed Captain Jack from his cell. Perhaps it had begun then. Or when he'd fought him here in this very forge. Or perhaps, he was doomed to be a pirate by sharing the same blood his father had had. The sword was finished, and he gently placed it in the rack. All of his swords were treated with the same care, as if they were something precious. And they were, works of art, and works of steel which could earn him the money he would need. Or would have need of if Elizabeth had been his. She wasn't, however, and he was left with the dust and smoke of the forge. He might have had them anyway, of course. Straightening, Wil suddenly made a decision. It was time to buy a hat with a large plume in it. -finis- © 2004 ALC Punk!. |