Will and Elizabeth: A Pirate's Life For Me

I don't consider myself as a pirate. I distance myself away from Captain - Uncle - Jack, and Barbossa, as much as possible. I make myself busy, cleaning the decks, cooking the meals, what have you. I enjoy being out at sea. Sitting by the window, watching those beautiful blue waves bounce and throw themselves at the ship. The excitement of it all makes everything worthwhile. Everyday's an adventure.

But that does not make me a pirate. Does it?

My name's Elizabeth Swann. Orphaned, but I'm not seeking a shoulder to cry on. I lost my mother when I was a little girl, and my father not long after. I was sent to the only relative I had left: My Aunt, Veronica. She wasn't around, but her so-called husband was. ("In my defence," Jack would protest defiantly, "I didn't know it was an actual marriage! I thought she was winding me up, savvy?")

Barbossa was his oldest friend. I mean oldest in the way that they've known each other the longest - but he is old too, I suppose, with a scraggly old beard I can't help but stare it, in a disgusted trance-like state. They're not bad, you see, but they're pirates. Deviancy is embedded into their DNA, and you kind of get used to their antics eventually. Sometimes, they're quite funny, and my life could be a whole lot worse. Still - I refuse to participate in theft or anything else.

It happened on a Sunday night.

I was sitting on the deck with Jack, cradling a bottle of Rum. Which I had no intention of drinking, I assure you. I'm only seventeen. Besides, I don't see the point in drinking that repulsive beverage. Jack never listens though. I think he's kind of disappointed I'm not as free-wheeling as him. He always hands me a bottle of Rum.

"When I was your age," He slurred, and some of the Rum spilt as the ship bobbed up and down. The seas were violent today, the clouds above brewing up some kind of storm, if the distant thunder and lightning were anything to go by. "You couldn't pry my hands off the Rum! What's the matter with you? Your Aunt didn't like to drink either… Maybe it's a woman thing. You're all the same, with your corsets and mind-games and ringlets…"

I half-smiled. He's foolish, you have to admit, but it's hard not to find the stuff he comes out with occasionally funny. Barbossa was steering, clutching the compass and cursing under his breath - a valley of swear-words all directed at Jack, who refused to help. Preferring, naturally, to get drunk. Just your regular Sunday night. I remember exactly what I was doing, the images have stayed picture-perfect in my mind.

"What's that?" Barbossa had murmured audibly, and I glanced up, placing my unopened bottle of Rum to the floor where it rolled to the end of the swaying rapidly from side-to-side ship, leaving Jack to desperately scramble away after it. I stood up, wobbling slightly. You could spend years at sea and still get weary when caught in these kind of conditions. I walked towards to the edge, leaning out as far as possible, and I saw him at the same time Barbossa shouted, "Man overboard!"

Everything happened rather quickly after that. Barbossa ordered me to cast a line, and I grabbed a bundle of rope and worked quickly and efficiently; I was often needed in urgent times when Jack was practically comatose or acting like a raving lunatic. I was getting soaked by the spray of the sea - hardly anything unusual, and I remember how freezing I was, drenched in paper-thin layers and shaking like a leaf. But I didn't care.

The man grabbed onto the rope, and I heaved to the best of my ability. It was hard pulling a man's entire weight with no help; I was tall and fairly slender with the body strength of a kitten. "Jack, you stupid idiot!" I shouted at my Uncle over my shoulder, thinking his assistance would've been nice. But no. He'd rather pursue a bottle of Rum, shouting pleadingly after it to stay. "Stupid, raving, drunken imbecile!"

And finally.

At last.

He clambered onto the deck, hitting his head hard on the wooden floors. Stunned, I dropped the rest of the rope and fell to my knees beside him. Pushing the wet hair out of his face and finding the man out cold. For a moment, my hand lingered on his face. He looked young, really. Maybe not my age exactly, perhaps a few years older. There was a clean cut slashed across his forehead, but other than that, I couldn't deny the fact he was…

Well, beautiful.

That was the day I met William Turner.

The day everything changed.

I love all things Pirates of the Caribbean. There are so many incredible Willabeth stories out there, so I decided to write my own seeing as I adore those two together. Like it, hate it?