Title: Dragonfly

Author: Muse a.k.a. Viorith

Rating: R

Pairing: Will/OFC & Jack/Anna Marie

Feedback: Yes

Archive: Ask first please!

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with PoTC, I'm just playing with them. I do own Sabine. So please ask if you want to play with her.

Summary: Sabine has loved Will since she was 16, but since his eyes were for Elizabeth only, she settled for his friendship. A year after the curse is lifted, Sabine now needs him to teach her the way of the blade so she can avenge her father's death on a man that once called himself his friend.

Note: "Words in italics inside quotations are spoken in Spanish."

Chapter 1

On the balcony over looking the bay of Port Royale, Elizabeth Swann sat in one of her fanciest dresses with her back to the harbor. In front of her, with smatterings of paint on her sepia hued fingers, Sabine Arroyo, used the edge of her pinkie to blend in the pink and yellow of Elizabeth's dress. She glanced around the canvas at her subject and raised an eyebrow as the young woman used the handkerchief to dab at her chin.

"Elizabeth, please stop fidgeting," Sabine chastised for what felt like the hundredth time in two hours. She studied the young woman seated in front of her, then went back to the image she had created on the canvas.

"How much longer do I have to sit here?" the governor's daughter questioned.

"Until I finish," the painter answered before reminding, "You were the one that wanted this portrait."

Elizabeth sighed dramatically, "If I knew it would take this long I might have changed my mind," she partially teased.

"You want this to be perfect, don't you?"

"Yes," Elizabeth sighed.

"Well perfection has its price," Sabine added a couple more brush strokes.

Elizabeth sighed again and shifted her eyes. Movement behind Sabine caught her attention and within a matter of seconds the frown on her face turned into a smile as she spied one of the servants bringing a tray of fresh fruit.

"I believe it's time for a break, do you not agree?" the Governor's daughter questioned.

Not waiting for a response she jumped from her seat and selected one of the ripe, plump peaches on the tray. She bit into the fruit, licking at the juices that tried to run down her delicate wrists. This time it was Sabine's turn to sigh, as she wiped her hands down the smock covering her dress.

Sabine muttered softly to herself in Spanish while she wiped off her paint brushes. She had done enough portraits to know by the time she corralled her subject back into the proper position the lighting would be completely wrong.

She had also done enough portraits to know that she could improvise on the background. The most important part was the subject being painted, and she had done enough to finish the piece by its appointed time.

"I have all the confidence of the world," Elizabeth began with a smile, "That you will have this ready by Saturday."

Sabine removed her smock and accepted a handful of grapes offered by the petite servant girl. "I suppose I will have to. It wouldn't do to have an engagement party and no portrait to present to your future husband."

At the mention of the upcoming marriage to Commodore Norrington, Elizabeth's mood darkened slightly, like the rain clouds that loomed in the distance off the shores of the Jamaican town. She turned to the woman that was more than a painter; she was her friend. Out of all Elizabeth's female friends, Sabine was probably the only one she told everything to, for she knew she would never be judged. She was the only one she had ever confessed her feelings about Will to. She was the only one that knew the marriage to the Commodore was arranged to please her father.

"Sabine, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me."

Sabine bit into a grape, "Have I ever not been?"

"How's Will cooping?" from the concern etched on Elizabeth's face, her friend could tell this was more than an ideal question. "I often wonder if I should stop by the smithing shoppe, and inquire directly, but . . . it seems cruel."

Sabine hesitated as she decided how best to answer the question, wondering if she meant it was cruel to him, or her, or both. "He's well, he's been extremely busy with creating swords for the new marines."

It wasn't a lie, save by omission. She saw no need to inform Elizabeth that Will had not deemed a full smile since she ended their relationship four months ago. Or that when he learned of her engagement to Commodore Norrington, he cried. It was no need to tell her of this, because she knew Elizabeth felt close to the same. She may have been marrying Norrington because it was the best match and her aligning father's wish, but the artist knew, Elizabeth's love for Will remained true. It probably would until the day she died.

"Sabine, tell me true, does he hate me at all?"

She smiled softly as she began packing her canvas and supplies, "No, I doubt he will ever be capable of that emotion toward you."

"And you?" Elizabeth questioned, "Do you hate me?"

"Why would I hate you? You have caused me no offense." Sabine questioned with a frown.

The governor's daughter moved back to the chair and sat down, her eyes cast to her right

towards the port and the ships docked there. "I know that you have love for him. If I were you, and someone hurt Will the way I did . . . " she paused and glanced in Sabine's direction, "I would never forgive that person."

Sabine closed the satchel that carried her portable paints, careful not to meet Elizabeth's gaze when she answered, "Then it is good are positions are not reversed." She slipped the painted canvas into the carrying case, pushed the empty easel to the side, and paused. "Elizabeth, may I ask you something?"

"Of course," the young lady replied, with a genuine smile.

"Are you happy? To be marrying Commodore Norrington, I mean."

The smile only faltered for a fraction of a moment, but it was long enough for Sabine to see. No matter what Elizabeth said, she already knew the truth.

"He's a kind, decent and respectable man, and I know he loves me very much. I consider myself luck that he is still willing to go through with this match."

"I'm so pleased to hear you say that." Both women turned to see Weatherby Swann make his entrance onto his daughter's terrace before embracing her in a fatherly hug. "He will make you a good husband, of that you can be sure," he then turned to Sabine. "And how are you, Sabine? Well I trust."

"Very well, thank your Grace."

"And your father?"

"On a voyage to Spain, though he is due back any day now," she answered trying her best not to fidget as she did whenever in the Governor's presence.

It wasn't that the man, or his presence demanded awe. In fact, Sabine had always pondered who the competition for appointment to the office had been for him to be the best choice. It was more his station that provoked the nervousness in her to rise to the surface.

As a merchantman, her father was not quite a part of the upper society, but delved in it enough for both him and his daughter to be deemed honorary members. Still, despite having grown up in the outer circle of the fortunate, Sabine felt self-conscious and inadequate around the prominent members of Port Royale's society. Elizabeth was perhaps the only exception.

"I do hope he will be back in time for the celebration Saturday. I have your invitations," as if waiting in the shadows for her cue, one of the maids stepped forward with two envelopes on a silver platter. The first had the name of her father, Diego Arroyo, printed across the white parchment. The other was hers.

Sabine plucked the letters from the platter, careful not to let her fingers touch the metal. "I shall extend this to him, upon his return."

"And the painting will be ready?"

"Yes sir, I will have it delivered Friday in the afternoon."

"Splendid."

Another maid entered the room and hesitated, waiting for a break in the conversation before speaking. "Ms. Swann, Commodore Norrington awaits your company in the garden."

"I shall take my leave now," Sabine internally sighed a breath of relief. "Your Grace, Ms. Swann."

She nodded to Weatherby, then Elizabeth in turn, before gathering her things, heading down the stairs, and out the front door. Once outside, she removed the cloth she used to cover her hair, allowing the thick black curls to spring free down her shoulders and take sail in the wind.

For a moment she debated on paying a visit to the smithing shoppe. Will stayed with her nightly under the guise of dining, then remained until it was too dark for him to return home for the evening. But she knew her father had made arrangements to have the blacksmith stay with her while he was gone.

She couldn't fault either of them, Port Royale was not a dangerous town, but no woman was really considered safe on their own no matter the town. And since her father's house was back in the woods, it would be easy for someone with badness in mind to bring harm to her unnoticed. Besides, Sabine could think of no better way to end a day, than with Will's company. She wouldn't have minded starting the day with it as well, but the young man was usually gone by the time she rose in the morning. No matter how early she tried to make that.

She smiled at the thought of him, but the smile along with the decision to stop quickly faded when she glanced down at her bundle. Will would insist on seeing her work, so he could praise it as he always did. And though she felt her portrait of Elizabeth Swann was one of her finest creations, she doubted Will would agree. More likely than not, he would not be able to see past the subject to the painting as a whole.

With a nod to an elderly woman working a cart with various ripe fruits, Sabine turned right off of Poke street. The winding dirt trail lead through the trees, and was no doubt a perfect place for waiting highwaymen, but would take her home faster than the main road. And Sabine had never been one to turn down adventure.

~~~

The moonlight reflecting on the water was once again the most prominent light source in the darkness. The remaining embers of a galley still littered the surface, but most of the ship was already below, slowly descending to a watery grave. Only the upper most part of the mast, and planks from the hull continued to burn.

In the distance, the masts and sails of the Defiant cast shadows upon the water. On the floor in the captain's cabin lay a man that looked more dead than alive. Dark red liquid cooled in a puddle by his mouth, his eyes were sealed loosely behind lids that had been beaten near shut. Every muscle in Diego's body ached and cried out for a mercy that would never come. It felt like a fire was burning under his skin, and even the shallow breaths he took sent sheets of pain throughout his body.

Dante Jacinto moved back in front of the unmoving bundle. He took a knee, meant to bring him within the vision that the slit allowed, but unsatisfied with his position, he partially lay on the floor.

"Diego," he called in a singsong Spanish accented voice. "Diego my friend, don't fall asleep on me now."

Jacinto reached out and gave a couple soft taps to Diego's face. When there was no response the soft tap turned into one hard slap across his cheek. The beaten man groaned, but was too exhausted to protect himself from any further onslaughts.

"All you have to do is tell me where you hid the map to La Samara and all this will end."

He waited several minutes from any response from Diego, his anger building with each passing second. Slamming his hand on the floor, Jacinto grabbed his knife before holding Diego's left hand flat and stabbing it through.

The prisoner cried out, his right hand reached to extract the knife, but his tormentor grabbed his wrist. The cry turned to an agonizing scream when Jacinto twisted the knife in the wound but no word of the treasure's location was uttered. A frustrated sigh pushed from Jacinto's lips. Roughly he yanked the dagger and wiped the blood on Diego's pant leg.

"You try my patience Diego, you really do. Here I thought we could pick up where we left off before you knifed me in the back, but it appears you have nothing to say," the pirate made to stand, but the glint of fire on the blade of the knife reflected on a chain around Diego's neck. "A shame you weren't as tight lipped sixteen years ago."

Jacinto reached into Diego's shirt, following the chain and came back with a locket loosely held in his fingers. He leaned forward and bit on it, determining that it was real gold before yanking it from his old partner's neck. What he found inside the locket was far more intriguing than the article itself. Inside, it housed a miniature portrait of a young woman.

"And how is your lovely daughter, Sabine? Still painting, or have you married her off?" The pirate stood and took the locket with him, still staring at the picture as he took his place behind his desk. "She has grown into quite the lovely young woman, perhaps she knows where my map is."

"You leave her out of this," Diego warned in the most threatening voice his battered body could muster.

"Then tell me what I want to know," he demanded. His answer was again silence, to which the pirate gave an exaggerated sigh. "Very well, you were heading to Port Royale, no? I shall go there, and I shall find her, and ask her where my map is. For her sake I hope she is not as tight lipped as her father, for mine I hope she is. She is a virgin still?"

"You can't," he protested, "She has done nothing to you."

"No, but you have. I spent sixteen long years in a jail thanks to the likes of you, and I will have my retribution. It's in your hands if it will be the treasure, or young Sabine's virtue."