choosetolive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
choosetolive) wrote2006-09-01 12:45 pm
choosetolive) wrote2006-09-01 12:45 pm
Fic [PotC]: Imaginare (1/1) - J/E, W/E, G
Title: Imaginare
Characters: Will, Elizabeth, Jack, Norrington
Rating: G
Word Count: 655
Spoilers: minor DMC
Summary: On the eve of his wedding, Will reflects on a game he and Elizabeth play.
Author's Notes: Fortessabeth, who wondered why Will was so cool towards Jack in DMC. Fits fanfic100 prompt #78 - Where? My table is here. Cross-posted to fanfic100, sparrabeth, _peasinapod_, and ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pirategasm.
***
“I wonder where Jack is today.”
It’s a phrase I hear quite often; it has become a favorite game of hers, for us to sit here on the bluff overlooking the harbor and speculate on the location and adventures of our friend.
It was a welcome question at first, a diversion from the awkwardness of our first outings. For all the familiarity we developed while on the high seas, back on land the barriers of station and propriety came surging up again: I was courting her now, an honor I could scarce comprehend. A mere blacksmith – or “pirate”, as Elizabeth would laughingly insist – as the chosen one of the incomparable Miss Swann? There were days when I could scarcely find it in myself to speak. Yet when Elizabeth spoke of Jack Sparrow, the walls would come falling down, and we would discuss him – full of enthusiasm and laughter, imagining narrow and adventurous escapes from the pursuit of Norrington.
The conjecture turned anxious at times, as Norrington’s quest to capture Jack continued. No news is good news, I assured her, but she would fret at the occasional rumor of capture or sinking.
There was barely-hidden glee behind the question when Norrington and the Dauntless returned with no circumlocutory, staggering prisoner aboard. Oh, there was concern for Norrington, for the men he’d lost in a hurricane, the damage to his ship, and the air of discouragement that hung over the commodore. Her tender heart went out to the men for their losses, but when we were alone she couldn’t hide the delight in her eyes that Jack had escaped.
When the pressure started to rise concerning the continued failure to hang the feared pirate captain Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth’s voice turned wistful. No longer content to envision where Jack might be, she began to weave ourselves into her imagination, speaking of freedom and simplicity and the call of the open sea. When Norrington resigned in disgrace, it was her refuge, to stand next to me and look out over the sea, weaving swashbuckling tales of us fighting alongside Jack. I would have my eyes on her, on her perfect skin and creamy throat and delicate hands, and not be able to comprehend my goddess in such a rough and filthy life. Oh, I had seen it before, seen the flash in her eyes as she held her own against seasoned pirates. She was capable, of that I had no doubt. But desiring such things? Only flights of fancy, I was sure, brought on by adventures both read and experienced, and a desire to escape the cloud that was beginning to hang over us.
It wasn’t until that cloud began to dissipate that I began to dislike Elizabeth’s game. I would attempt to distract her, desiring to speak on the fast-approaching wedding, and my plans to take over Mr. Brown’s forge, and all the dreams and goals I had so that I might be able to provide for my treasure, and the children she would bear me. She would listen and smile and interject, and we would bicker over how much work I would allow her to do. Yet try as I might to paint the most wonderful, rewarding picture of our future together, I couldn’t quite reproduce the light I saw in her eyes when she gazed out at the sea.
Now, with our wedding on the morrow, her mind is still on that man from almost a year ago, a certain longing in her eyes that a sudden vicious urge in me wants to quash. “Probably far away,” I say, and see the disappointment in her face that she tries to hide. I know she is hoping he will come for the wedding, despite it going against all sense. Perhaps that is why she thinks Jack Sparrow might do it.
I hope he doesn’t. On the morrow Elizabeth becomes mine, and I refuse to share her anymore.
Characters: Will, Elizabeth, Jack, Norrington
Rating: G
Word Count: 655
Spoilers: minor DMC
Summary: On the eve of his wedding, Will reflects on a game he and Elizabeth play.
Author's Notes: For
tessabeth, who wondered why Will was so cool towards Jack in DMC. Fits fanfic100 prompt #78 - Where? My table is here. Cross-posted to fanfic100, sparrabeth, _peasinapod_, and pirategasm.***
“I wonder where Jack is today.”
It’s a phrase I hear quite often; it has become a favorite game of hers, for us to sit here on the bluff overlooking the harbor and speculate on the location and adventures of our friend.
It was a welcome question at first, a diversion from the awkwardness of our first outings. For all the familiarity we developed while on the high seas, back on land the barriers of station and propriety came surging up again: I was courting her now, an honor I could scarce comprehend. A mere blacksmith – or “pirate”, as Elizabeth would laughingly insist – as the chosen one of the incomparable Miss Swann? There were days when I could scarcely find it in myself to speak. Yet when Elizabeth spoke of Jack Sparrow, the walls would come falling down, and we would discuss him – full of enthusiasm and laughter, imagining narrow and adventurous escapes from the pursuit of Norrington.
The conjecture turned anxious at times, as Norrington’s quest to capture Jack continued. No news is good news, I assured her, but she would fret at the occasional rumor of capture or sinking.
There was barely-hidden glee behind the question when Norrington and the Dauntless returned with no circumlocutory, staggering prisoner aboard. Oh, there was concern for Norrington, for the men he’d lost in a hurricane, the damage to his ship, and the air of discouragement that hung over the commodore. Her tender heart went out to the men for their losses, but when we were alone she couldn’t hide the delight in her eyes that Jack had escaped.
When the pressure started to rise concerning the continued failure to hang the feared pirate captain Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth’s voice turned wistful. No longer content to envision where Jack might be, she began to weave ourselves into her imagination, speaking of freedom and simplicity and the call of the open sea. When Norrington resigned in disgrace, it was her refuge, to stand next to me and look out over the sea, weaving swashbuckling tales of us fighting alongside Jack. I would have my eyes on her, on her perfect skin and creamy throat and delicate hands, and not be able to comprehend my goddess in such a rough and filthy life. Oh, I had seen it before, seen the flash in her eyes as she held her own against seasoned pirates. She was capable, of that I had no doubt. But desiring such things? Only flights of fancy, I was sure, brought on by adventures both read and experienced, and a desire to escape the cloud that was beginning to hang over us.
It wasn’t until that cloud began to dissipate that I began to dislike Elizabeth’s game. I would attempt to distract her, desiring to speak on the fast-approaching wedding, and my plans to take over Mr. Brown’s forge, and all the dreams and goals I had so that I might be able to provide for my treasure, and the children she would bear me. She would listen and smile and interject, and we would bicker over how much work I would allow her to do. Yet try as I might to paint the most wonderful, rewarding picture of our future together, I couldn’t quite reproduce the light I saw in her eyes when she gazed out at the sea.
Now, with our wedding on the morrow, her mind is still on that man from almost a year ago, a certain longing in her eyes that a sudden vicious urge in me wants to quash. “Probably far away,” I say, and see the disappointment in her face that she tries to hide. I know she is hoping he will come for the wedding, despite it going against all sense. Perhaps that is why she thinks Jack Sparrow might do it.
I hope he doesn’t. On the morrow Elizabeth becomes mine, and I refuse to share her anymore.