Fire and Ice

You are the Fire Lily, and I am the Ice King

Does fire melt ice? Or ice put out fire?

Or may they come together, fire and ice, neither melted nor quenched?

Elizabeth shivered, the rain coursing down her back, as she knelt in her wedding gown, groomless. She stared unseeingly into the harbour, easily seen from the church, and felt her heart sink.

The blue standard of the East India Trading Company fluttered in the storm, flying proudly from the masts of the galleons assembled upon the undulating waves. Elizabeth felt something she had not felt for so long, not since that night on the Black Pearl, when she had discovered the nature of the pirates' curse. Fear.

She heard the tramp of boots on the cobbles behind her, and she raced towards the loggia where her father and the wedding guests stood, sheltered slightly from the tropical storm. Her senses zeroed in on one person, Will, drenched and shivering in manacles. Rage overtook her for one moment, how dare they? She barely heard her father's voice, as he furiously commanded the officers to free Will. A figure in a caped greatcoat turned and Elizabeth didn't spare him a glance, until his velvet smooth voice reverberated through her.

"Governor Weatherby Swann, it's been too long," the languid drawl had Elizabeth turning her head, and stared into ice blue eyes, cold and calculating. She repressed a shiver, feeling the flames of her anger rising, but she kept them at bay, reminding herself of propriety and the fact they were surrounded by dozens of marines. But her father's voice tore her from her speculative reverie.

"Cutler Beckett?" her father's voice was the essence of surprise and confusion. Elizabeth felt his name stick within her memory, tugging insistently at her consciousness. But why?

"It's Lord now, actually," came the coolly controlled reply, the tone conversational. Elizabeth inwardly snorted derisively, although she didn't know why. But then his eyes skewered her, and she felt her tenuous control shake, her temper loosening its bonds. Her eyes spat sparks at him, for his impudent gaze, but he appeared unmoved.

"Lord or not, you have no right or authority to arrest this man," Governor Swann gestured to Will. Beckett merely smirked.

"In fact I do. Mr Mercer?" a plain, pockmarked gentlemen stepped up to his master's side, handing him a leather-bound sheaf of papers. Beckett's eyes flicked to the document, before they returned to Elizabeth's face, and handed it to her father. Governor Swann sighed heavily, looking disapprovingly at Will. Elizabeth focussed on her fiancé's face, Beckett's disconcerting gaze back on her features, a small smirk playing on his mouth. She refused to let him get to her, let him bait her temper.

"But this one is for Elizabeth Swann," Governor Swann said, incomprehension in his voice.

"Oh is it? That's annoying. Arrest her," Lord Beckett replied, not appearing at all unruffled and gestured to Elizabeth.

"On what charges!" Elizabeth asked her tone high-pitched in shock. She inwardly winced; she sounded like one of those wilting wall flowers that had once been her peers. She ignored Will's shocked "NO!" fighting against the iron hands holding her prisoner. She felt the cold iron of the manacles slip around her wrists, abrading the soft skin. It enraged her, giving her the strength to shout angrily.

"What are the charges!"

Beckett who had been pacing in front of them, like a lawyer, cross-examining her father over James's disappearance, turned his gaze back to her face, taking in the flames flickering within her eyes, her cheeks blushing with a fevered flush of rage. She looked down her nose at him, as much as she was able to whilst held prisoner. His smirk only grew, irritating Elizabeth further. She summoned her haughtiest tone, as he spoke again.

"I don't believe that was the answer to the question I asked," he remarked dryly to her father.

"Lord Beckett, in the category of questions not answered…." Will began furiously.

"We are under the jurisdiction of the King's Governor of Port Royal, and you will tell us what we are charged with," Elizabeth interrupted, her tone challenging and commanding. Beckett regarded her coolly, his eyes calculatingly curious. Her father was the one that answered their question in the end.

"The charge is conspiracy to free a man convicted of crimes against the crown and empire, and condemned to death, for which the punishment is also…" Governor Swann's tone changed from derisive to horrified shock, tailing off.

"For which the punishment is also regrettably death," Beckett continued, relishing his words, watching his captives for signs of fear. Will's eyes flashed with righteous anger, and concern for Elizabeth. Elizabeth's eyes blazed, her hackles rising, wanting to tear him limb from limb. Beckett could see it, his smile growing by the second. "Perhaps you remember a certain pirate by the name of Jack Sparrow?"

"Captain!" they both burst out. Will's eyes flicked to hers, but she was focussed entirely on the man in front of them.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," she continued, one eyebrow rising arrogantly.

"Captain Jack Sparrow. Yes I thought you might," Beckett's smirk deepened, triumph dancing in his eyes. All Elizabeth knew, as she and Will were dragged away, was that he would pay dearly for his arrogance, one day.

"Well, well Governor Swann. I must congratulate you. She's grown into a lovely girl," Beckett commented dryly, as Weatherby Swann appeared at his shoulder, fury sparking in his old eyes.

"You will not get away with this Beckett," he said, his voice quavering slightly. Beckett's smile widened as he arrogantly surveyed the Governor down his nose.

"That's Lord to you, Swann. And on the contrary, I already have," and with that he swung his caped greatcoat onto his shoulders, and strode into the rain to his waiting horse, Mercer beside him.

Elizabeth felt bereft, as Will tore from h

er grasp, off on his mission to save them. He was to find Jack, retrieve his compass and return to Port Royal to secure their freedom. But somehow, she knew things would not be so simple. Her father watched her through the bars, his face creased with concern.

"Father, I felt as though I recognised Beckett, but I honestly cannot remember where from," Elizabeth started, her face imploring her father to help her remember.

"I'm not surprised, you were very young, and you only met briefly, as far as I know. It was just before we left to come here, to the Caribbean. Remember?"

Memories stirred upon the surface of her mind. "I think I do," she said softly, her mind a million miles away.

The young man, dressed in a plain black coat and boots, with buckskin breeches sat in front of the desk of her father. He sat behind, a dark brown wig upon his head, his face still young and unwrinkled. The ten year-old Elizabeth sat behind the banisters of the stairs listening avidly to the cool yet angered voices within.

"Mr Beckett you deliberately disobeyed a direct order from the King to go gallivanting off after pirates! And you lost a whole parcel of slaves into the bargain!" her father was saying, his tone brooking no argument.

"I know that, but the pirate I was 'gallivanting' after, was the pirate who lost the slaves in the first place. What was I supposed to do, leave him to get away with it?" Beckett argued back, one hand raised as though he were a lawyer presenting his case. Her father sighed.

"Look, Beckett I have done all I can. You are to be sent to India, in the ranks of the East India Trading Company, and truth be told I think it best. The king is not best pleased, and it might be better for you to play least in sight, at least for a few years,"

"You mean you're throwing me off your staff, to rot in India for God knows how many years!"

"It is the best I can do, and am willing to do. Your father asked me to look after you, and this is easiest solution I can see," her father continued calmly, pouring himself a brandy. Elizabeth squinted through the gap in the banisters.

"Ahh yes, my father. I see he is the only reason I am not be fed to the wolves. Tell me, what did he offer you to stop my total disgrace?" Beckett asked his tone cutting and sarcastic. Her father appeared unruffled.

"In a week's time I sail to Jamaica, to take up the Governor's post in Port Royal and that will be the end of this matter,"

"Ahh I see. The promise of a life in idyllic luxury, in return for sending me to that festering hellhole," Beckett remarked, a sardonic smirk in his eyes, although his face was blank. "I gave you my loyalty, uncompromising and unswerving, and you repay me like this?" he snarled.

"You go too far, Mr Beckett. You are an inferior to me, and as such I owe you nothing," her father snapped. Elizabeth jumped, and knocked her knee against the banister, and cringed. They would be sure to have heard that, they would know she had been eavesdropping. But when the young man had appeared in the hallway, and had so courteously bowed to her, despite her young years and not being introduced, Elizabeth couldn't go back to her pianoforte practice. "Elizabeth?"

"Yes. Father?" she sighed, and slipped through the half-open door into the warm study. She wore a gown of blue chiffon, hugging her slim little girl's frame. Brown ringlets bounced around her ears as she walked forward, hands behind her back, head cast down.

"My daughter Elizabeth, Mr Beckett," he gestured to the young man sitting languidly in the chair. His aggression had disappeared, replaced by a cool courtesy. He stood and bowed over her hand.

"Miss Swann…."

"And now I think it is time you were leaving, Mr Beckett. Your ship to India is on the evening tide. Elizabeth will show you out," her father continued, interrupting the silent communication passing between them, ice blue eyes to her wide, round chocolate ones. Beckett straightened, giving her father a dismissive glance, who was already reading through a sheaf of papers as though he had forgotten they were there. Elizabeth led the way from the room.

In the cool hallway, a footman held the front door open, whilst Beckett shrugged into his greatcoat, and Elizabeth watched him curiously.

"What are you looking at, girl?" he asked, arrogance pouring from every orifice. Caught off guard, Elizabeth jumped.

"You," she answered plainly, still openly appraising him. As those sapphire eyes locked onto hers, surprise emanating from them, she spoke in a rush. "I think Father's wrong to be sending you away. I think you did the right thing to go after that pirate. It must have been awfully exciting!"

Beckett stared down at the little girl, only just dipping her dainty toe in the sludge that was adulthood, and felt a strange sense of kinship with her. Slowly, he knelt down before her, taking her hand in his.

"Miss Swann that is very kind of you but….."

"I don't want you to go. I'll convince father to let you stay; will you take me with you, to fight pirates?" Elizabeth was almost bouncing up and down in excitement, wonderful nonsensical images forming in her head.

"No, Miss Swann I cannot take you with me. The world I live in is no place for a child," he answered softly, trying to avoid being patronising. But he didn't succeed.

"I am not a child!" Elizabeth said proudly, flames sparking in her innocent eyes. "Soon I will be a woman!"

"Yes of that I have no doubt. How old are you?" he asked, suddenly curious. Elizabeth elevated her chin one last notch.

"I will be eleven in August."

"Almost a lady, and a fine lady you will make, living in the Caribbean," he said soothingly, easing her temper.

"I don't want to be a lady, I want to fight pirates and sail on the seas forever, free as a bird!" Elizabeth exclaimed, suddenly fearful of the journey to Jamaica.

"But the Caribbean is so beautiful…." Beckett described the loveliness of the tropical sunsets, the lush jungles, the pure white beaches, the cool palms trees and lagoons, the bustling towns and ports, painting verbal pictures in his refined voice. Elizabeth listened, enraptured. "So it may not be so awful, Miss Elizabeth," he finished, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles as he would a grown up lady. Elizabeth giggled, finding she like the way he said her name and did not treat her with patronising forbearance. As Beckett made to stand and leave, Elizabeth made a small sound of protest. He smiled down at her, his cynical heart refreshed by her innocence.

"Don't go! I will persuade Father to let you stay, or come to the Caribbean with us!" Elizabeth implored him, forgetting all the propriety she had ever been taught.

"I can't, my little friend. But I have some advice for you, before I go. You are so spirited, and you must not let anyone take that from you, not even your father. Your spirit is your greatest asset, and might be useful one day. But remember this: do not give your loyalty so easily, for loyalty is not the currency of the realm any longer," and with that cryptic advice, he bowed to her, chucked her chin and swept out of the door. Despite her giggle, Elizabeth stood there, confused for a very long time.

"Yes I do remember," Elizabeth said, leaning back against the stone wall of the cell. And the memory angered her all the more…