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by Melusina


Fandom: PoTC    Rating: PG    Pairing: Will/Elizabeth, implied Jack/Elizabeth    Full Header


Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies

Once Elizabeth thought to be a pirate, the wife of a pirate. Now she is a blacksmith's wife, soon to be a mother, and she must ignore the call of the ocean, the lure of adventure. She is not the treasure hunter, but the treasure, safely buried.

She is like the merchants' ships

Elizabeth is burgeoning. Her shift is taut across her round belly, like a sail filled with wind, but it's an elaborate deceit. The wind that fills her sails does not propel her forward, graceful and light, but grounds her, weighs her down, and makes her awkward and ungainly.

The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil

Will seems perfectly content, happy even, with their circumscribed life. He works in the forge, crafting weapons, and returns to her in the evening, singed and scorched. Meanwhile, in the forge of her body, Elizabeth is creating a weapon of her own. The sword who will slay the pirate in her and bury it forever. For if there is a slim chance that a woman may be a pirate, there is no chance that a pirate can be a mother. A pirate ship is not a place for a child.

Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish

Elizabeth watches the calender and does the ancient math of gossips and fallen women. She did what was necessary to save Will, and she does not regret it, no matter what happens. She would have died for him, killed for him, given him up to save him. What are the scraps of her reputation balanced against Jack's cooperation, against Will's life? But in her heart, where she harbors her secret, she hopes.

Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land

Almost too close to tell, not but a month between the night on the island and her wedding night. But she will know when she can be sure. She believes that Will would not renounce her, even if he guessed. But she is not the only one who can count to nine, and it will be hard for them both if the baby arrives too soon.

Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come

Nine months pass. Elizabeth breathes easy. Close to ten months and she goes to her childbed, proud of the pain and wondering at the water surging out of her. She has been carrying the sea inside her all these months, along with the tiny girl. Another marvel, a possibility Elizabeth had never considered, her daughter looks nothing like either man, but is Elizabeth made over, from the stubborn set of her mouth to her fierce eyes. "She is a pirate," Elizabeth declares, "like her father," and she is glad that she does not know which of them she means.


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