Title: The Sea King’s Daughter
Disclaimers: If I actually owed Jack Sparrow, I would be far too busy to be writing fiction....
Author's Notes: I started writing this a while ago but kind of lost my way. Now I’ve had a rethink on the plot, tidied it up quite a bit and thought of a whole new middle and end. Hopefully this will turn out to be for the best. I’ve tried to write this so it fits in between CotBP and DMC. Also, the legend of the Sea King’s daughter comes from an old fable (not the Russian story of the same name).
Summary: Set between 1 & 2. When Will receives a mysterious note hinting at his father's fate, he, Jack and Elizabeth set out to save Bootstrap's soul. Norrington however is in hot pursuit and Jack has more troubles of his own with a vengeful former acquaintance.
The blade flashed in the sunlight that poked its way through the scattered gaps in the dark wooden building. The hand holding it tilted it slightly and the sun slid up the shinning metal, illuminating the fine craftsmanship that had gone into making it.
Will admired his own handiwork with pride for a moment, before flipping the blade round with an expert wrist and taking a few experimental swipes. Years of experience had attuned his ear to the sound a good blade made as it carved through the air. This one was almost perfect.
Taking it in both hands, he swung it into a thick wooden post, already riddled with the cuts from a dozen previous tests. Pulling the sword out again with ease, he examined the mark it had left - it was strong and clean as it should be, and the blade had cut deeply with little effort. Yes, a fine weapon indeed. He had had a positive feeling about it whilst he had still been crafting it, but you could never truly tell until you tried it for real.
The weapon had been made at the request of Governor Swann as a gift for a visiting dignitary who he would be entertaining for the next few weeks. The Governor had been uncommonly kind to him since he had helped rescue
And successful he was too. He had two apprentices working under him now - something highly unusual for a man of his tender years – and the security of constant employment had allowed him to save his pennies tirelessly. He knew he could never keep
It wouldn’t be long now, he realised with a smile. He’d been living particularly frugally in recent times, sleeping in his shop so as to not pay rent. A small cosy house nearby had been put up for sale and he had been delighted to find that the asking price was within his means. It needed a little decorative work doing, but
He didn’t know why he was so nervous at the prospect. Hadn’t she already accepted him? Hadn’t she said over and over again how she longed for the day when she could call herself Mrs Elizabeth Turner?
Will smiled to himself once more, liking the sound of that.
His moment of wistful indulgence was interrupted by the arrival of the elder of his apprentices, holding out a piece of folded paper in his grubby hands.
“It’s for you, Mr Turner,” he stated plainly, allowing Will to take it from him.
Yes, it was addressed to him, written in a scrawling handwriting that he didn’t recognise.
“Did you see who left it?” he asked frowning, mildly confused. It was unlike a customer to simply leave a note and few other people visited him here.
“No, sir,” the boy answered, “I found it pushed under the door.”
“Very well, you can go back to your work.”
Returning the all but forgotten blade he had been testing to its case, he curiously opened the letter wondering who on earth would be writing to him. His initial thought was the rather hopeful one of Jack Sparrow. Although he would never have admitted it, he had rather missed the rouge pirate, having not seen hide nor hair of him since he had sailed away from
Jack wasn’t exactly Will’s friend as such -– he didn’t think Sparrow really considered himself friends with anyone -– but they had shared a certain kinship that in the end had saved both their lives. It was mildly disappointing that they had not crossed paths since.
He dismissed the idea of it being from errant Captain rather quickly though. Jack didn’t exactly strike him as being a letter writing man. More the sort to stagger his way in unannounced, bringing with him a whole heap load of trouble.
Unfolding the note, Will saw that the handwriting inside was also rather scrawled, as though it had been written in a great hurry and whilst he had trouble at some points, overall it was just about legible.
‘Bootstrap was a good man, yet his fate far exceeds that of his former crew mates. They escaped with simple death, but he suffers still, paying exponentially for his crimes, a prisoner without hope. His very soul is the penalty for all he has done; a fate which no man deserves, let alone one such as him. But, young Turner, I would not write and tell you this if there was no chance for his redemption. Find the Sea King’s Daughter. If you wish to help him, if you bear him no ill will and would look to spare his soul, persuade her to bestow her favour upon you and he may yet be saved and find his peace.’
Will held his breath for many a long moment as he read the letter over and over again, trying to decipher its odd meaning, his mind overwhelmed with thoughts as his knees softened and he slid heavily to the floor.
It seemed that some terrible horror had befallen Bootstrap Bill Turner, his supposedly dead father, and he was suffering still for it. And whoever had written this letter obviously expected Will to come to his aid…