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✩‧₊˚ ❛ 𝓐𝚂𝚃𝐑𝙾𝙽𝐎𝙼𝚈 ❜ ✩‧₊˚

》 ‹ 01: the pirate

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╚═════════ ༻ ‧₊˚ 𖣠 : ❁ : 𖣠 ‧₊˚ ༺ ═════════╝

☽ ➶ ｡˚ —— ❝ ah, the ever-loyal maid. don't worry, love, i'll try not to ruin your employer's fine establishment. ❞

——— (( 𖠄 )) ———

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PORT ROYAL

1700

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THE MORNING SUN SPILLED GOLDEN light through the tall windows of Elizabeth Swann's bedroom, pooling across the polished floorboards and bathing the room in a warm glow. It was a beautiful day for Commodore Norrington's promotion ceremony, a momentous occasion for Port Royal, and one that required nothing less than perfection. For Elinor Taylor, this meant a morning of bustling activity, meticulous attention to detail, and the unspoken but ever-present pressure of serving the governor's daughter.

Elinor's slender fingers worked deftly at fastening the intricate laces of Elizabeth's corset. Her hands were sure and steady, though her mind wandered as it often did during tasks like these. Long, straight strands of brunette hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned in, tightening the garment with practiced precision. Elizabeth, seated before the vanity, winced slightly but didn't complain. She never did with Elinor.

"Too tight?" Elinor asked, her hazel eyes flicking up to meet Elizabeth's reflection in the mirror. Her voice was low and steady, an anchor in the swirl of activity surrounding them.

Elizabeth shook her head, her golden hair catching the sunlight like spun honey. "No, it's fine," she replied, though her smile was faint and distracted. Her gaze lingered on the open window, where the sound of gulls and the faint scent of the sea drifted in. "I suppose it's expected of me to look as if I've been sculpted from marble for this ceremony."

Elinor smirked faintly, a flash of dry humor slipping through her otherwise composed demeanor. "If that's the goal, Miss Swann, then you're already well ahead."

Elizabeth's lips curved into a genuine smile, a rare moment of ease in her otherwise restless nature. "You're too kind, Elinor," she said softly. Her gaze drifted back to the mirror, studying her reflection with a critical eye. "Do you think he'll notice?"

Elinor paused, her hands stilling briefly. She knew who Elizabeth meant but chose her words carefully. "I imagine he'd be a fool not to," she said, resuming her work. "Commodore Norrington seems many things, but a fool is not one of them."

Elizabeth laughed lightly, though there was an edge of unease to it. "It's not as though I'm particularly thrilled about the prospect of his notice," she admitted, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "But what choice do I have?"

Elinor said nothing at first. She had long ago learned that silence was often the best response when Elizabeth spoke of the expectations placed upon her. Still, something stirred within her—a quiet, unspoken frustration at the way society molded and constrained Elizabeth's life, reducing her vibrant spirit to a series of carefully measured steps and calculated glances.

"Choice or not," Elinor said finally, "you'll face it as you always do. With grace."

Elizabeth turned to look at her then, really look at her, and for a moment, Elinor felt the weight of that gaze settle over her like the warmth of the sun. It wasn't uncommon for Elizabeth to study her this way, her hazel eyes searching as though trying to unearth some hidden truth.

"You make it sound so simple," Elizabeth said, her voice tinged with both gratitude and melancholy.

Elinor offered a small, wry smile. "Perhaps simplicity isn't such a terrible thing," she replied. But even as she said it, she knew it was an empty comfort. Nothing about Elizabeth's life was simple.

By the time Elizabeth was dressed, her gown an exquisite cascade of pale blue silk and delicate embroidery, the hour was nearly upon them. Elinor stepped back to admire her work, brushing a faint speck of dust from Elizabeth's sleeve.

"Perfect," Elinor said softly, and for a moment, her voice carried more weight than the word seemed to warrant. Elizabeth's eyes softened, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.

"Thank you, Elinor," she said, her voice equally soft. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Elinor's chest tightened briefly, an unfamiliar sensation she pushed aside. "It's my job, Miss Swann," she replied, though her tone held a quiet sincerity that went beyond duty.

As the door opened and the governor's voice called for Elizabeth to hurry, the moment passed. Elizabeth turned away, her head held high and her steps graceful as she exited the room. Elinor lingered for a moment, her hands falling to her sides as she exhaled slowly.

The sound of Governor Weatherby Swann's footsteps echoed down the grand hall as Elizabeth trailed behind him, her silk skirts whispering against the polished floor. Her lips pressed into a determined line, and her hands clutched her fan with enough force to whiten her knuckles. She was dressed impeccably for the occasion, every stitch a testament to her high station. But her mind was elsewhere.

"Father, may I speak with you?" Elizabeth ventured, her voice steady though laced with urgency.

Governor Swann turned, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "What is it, Elizabeth? The carriage awaits, and we mustn't keep the commodore waiting on such an important day."

Elizabeth clasped her hands before her, her resolve firm. "I would like Elinor to accompany me to the ceremony."

"Your maid?" Governor Swann's brow furrowed. "Whatever for? You will be surrounded by friends and esteemed company. Surely, you don't require additional attendance."

Elizabeth's heart quickened, but she maintained her composure. "Father, Elinor has always ensured that I am prepared for such occasions. She knows the intricate workings of my attire and can assist if needed. Besides," she added, a touch softer, "I would feel more at ease with her there."

Governor Swann studied her for a moment, his expression softening. "Very well," he conceded with a sigh. "But do make haste. The commodore will not take kindly to tardiness."

Elizabeth smiled gratefully and swept from the hall, her skirts swishing as she ascended the staircase. Elinor was in her small quarters, carefully folding linens when Elizabeth entered.

"Elinor, you're coming with me to the ceremony," Elizabeth announced, the faintest trace of relief in her voice.

Elinor blinked in surprise. "Me, Miss Swann?" she asked, setting the linens aside.

"Yes, you," Elizabeth said firmly, though her tone carried a warmth that made the words less an order and more an invitation. "Fetch your cloak and hurry; the carriage is waiting."

Elinor hesitated for only a moment before nodding, her hazel eyes betraying a flicker of both curiosity and pride. "Of course, Miss Swann." She donned her modest cloak and followed Elizabeth to the waiting carriage.

As the carriage rolled toward Fort Charles, the town of Port Royal buzzed with activity. Streets thrummed with the rhythm of daily life, sailors unloaded crates at the docks, and merchants hawked their wares in the bustling marketplace. Inside the carriage, Elizabeth gazed out the window, her expression unreadable.

Elinor sat opposite her, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She had spent years in Elizabeth's service and knew when her mistress's thoughts were elsewhere. Yet there was an unspoken comfort in her presence—a steadying force in the whirlwind of Elizabeth's world.

"You've been quieter than usual today, Miss Swann," Elinor ventured carefully.

Elizabeth turned from the window, her lips quirking in a faint smile. "Have I? Perhaps the weight of expectation sits heavier than usual."

Elinor's brow creased slightly. "If it is any comfort, you bear it well. Few would suspect you carry any weight at all."

Elizabeth chuckled softly, though her gaze remained thoughtful. "You're kind to say so, Elinor. Though I wonder if even Commodore Norrington's promotion might not dull the sharp edges of today."

Elinor tilted her head, intrigued. "And why is that, Miss Swann?"

Before Elizabeth could answer, the carriage drew to a halt. The driver's voice called out, signaling their arrival at the fort. Elizabeth exhaled softly, the moment passed, and gestured for Elinor to follow her out.

——— (( 𖠄 )) ———

THE CEREMONY AT FORT CHARLES unfolded with all the pomp and precision one might expect. Military officers in immaculate uniforms stood at attention, their polished swords gleaming in the sun. The sea breeze carried the faint scent of salt and cannon smoke, mingling with the murmur of assembled dignitaries.

Elinor lingered at the edges of the gathering, her gaze discreetly following Elizabeth as the governor's daughter mingled among the dignitaries. The soft murmur of polite conversation and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air, but Elinor remained silent, her hands clasped before her as she observed from a respectful distance. This was her place, always a step behind, always unseen except by the one person who mattered.

Elizabeth glanced back once, her eyes searching the crowd until they found Elinor. For the briefest moment, their gazes locked, and Elizabeth's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile before she returned her attention to Commodore Norrington. Elinor's cheeks warmed, though she could not explain why. It was a smile, nothing more. Yet it lingered in her thoughts, a quiet echo she could not shake.

Her attention was soon drawn to movement at the periphery of the crowd. A young man—the blacksmith's apprentice, Will Turner, if she recalled correctly—stood awkwardly at the edge of the gathering, holding a finely crafted sword in a presentation case. His eyes were fixed on Elizabeth, though he made no move to approach. Elinor noted the tension in his posture, the way his grip on the case tightened as Norrington leaned closer to Elizabeth, his voice low and intent.

Elinor frowned slightly, though she quickly schooled her expression. Whatever Will Turner's thoughts, they were not her concern. Yet something about the look in his eyes struck a chord, a reflection of something she could not name.

The ceremony reached its crescendo as Governor Swann handed Norrington the ceremonial sword. Polished and gleaming, it caught the sunlight as Norrington raised it high, the crowd erupting into applause. Elinor joined in, her claps measured and decorous, her attention divided between the pomp of the moment and the subtle shifts in Elizabeth's expression. Though Elizabeth smiled, there was a tightness to it that only someone who knew her well would notice.

As the applause faded and the crowd began to disperse, Elizabeth turned toward Elinor, her steps purposeful. Elinor straightened instinctively, her hazel eyes meeting Elizabeth's.

"Elinor," Elizabeth said, her voice low but urgent. "I need a moment away from all this." She gestured vaguely at the crowd, a flicker of frustration crossing her features.

Elinor nodded immediately. "Of course, Miss Swann. Shall I fetch some water?"

Elizabeth hesitated, then shook her head. "No, just walk with me. Please."

Without another word, Elizabeth moved toward the quieter edge of the fort, where the sea breeze carried the scent of salt and the distant cry of gulls. Elinor followed, her steps light and measured, her gaze scanning their surroundings out of habit.

They stopped near the parapet, the stone wall overlooking the bay. Elizabeth rested her hands on the cool stone, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Elinor stood a step behind, giving her the space she seemed to need.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The wind stirred Elizabeth's golden hair, and Elinor's fingers twitched with the urge to smooth a stray strand back into place. She resisted, folding her hands tightly.

"Do you ever feel trapped, Elinor?" Elizabeth asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elinor blinked, caught off guard. "Trapped, Miss Swann?" she echoed, her tone cautious.

Elizabeth's grip on the parapet tightened. "By expectations. By duty. By what others decide your life should be."

Elinor hesitated, unsure how to respond. "I... suppose everyone feels that way, in some form or another."

Elizabeth turned to look at her, her gaze searching. "And you? What would you do, if you could choose?"

Elinor's breath caught, the question striking deeper than she expected. What would she do? She had never allowed herself to consider it, not truly. Her life had always been one of service, her choices dictated by circumstance and necessity.

"I don't know," she admitted finally, her voice quiet. "I've never given it much thought."

Elizabeth's expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "Perhaps you should," she said, her tone gentle.

Before Elinor could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the moment. They turned to see Governor Swann striding toward them, his expression a mixture of relief and mild exasperation.

"Elizabeth, there you are," he said. "The commodore was hoping for a word before the celebration begins in earnest."

Elizabeth's smile returned, though it lacked its earlier warmth. "Of course, Father. I was just... enjoying the view."

As she moved to follow her father, she glanced back at Elinor, her eyes lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Elinor stood alone by the parapet, the sea breeze tugging at her hair. She watched Elizabeth walk away, the faint echo of her words still resonating in her mind: Perhaps you should.

——— (( 𖠄 )) ———

Elinor was just stepping back into the cool shadows of the fort's inner halls when the sound of raised voices and hurried footsteps reached her ears. Turning swiftly, she followed the commotion toward the edge of the cliff where Elizabeth and Commodore Norrington had been moments earlier. Her chest tightened with unease as a piercing shout rang out.

"Elizabeth!" Governor Swann's panicked voice carried over the gathering crowd.

Elinor's heart sank. She pushed past a cluster of naval officers and dignitaries, her skirts catching on their polished boots. The sight before her sent a chill through her veins: the commodore stood rigid by the parapet, his face pale and drawn as he gazed over the edge.

"Elizabeth!" he shouted again, his voice strained.

"She... she fell," Norrington muttered, his usually composed demeanor frayed.

Elinor didn't hesitate. Ignoring the governor's frantic attempts to call her back, she broke into a run, her boots slipping slightly on the loose gravel as she raced down the steep incline toward the docks. Her mind raced, every step a prayer that Elizabeth had survived the fall.

As she reached the water's edge, Elinor's eyes darted across the churning waves. Then she saw her—a splash of pale blue silk amidst the frothy whitecaps, Elizabeth struggling weakly before disappearing beneath the surface.

"Elizabeth!" Elinor shouted, the words snatched away by the sea breeze. Without thinking, she moved to the edge of the dock, fumbling to loosen her own heavy cloak, when a figure strode past her.

A man she didn't recognize—lean and wiry, with an air of nonchalant confidence that contrasted sharply with the chaos around him—paused just long enough to take in the scene. His dark hair was adorned with small trinkets, and his weathered clothes bore the look of a sailor who had seen too many adventures. A wide-brimmed hat shaded his sharp, amused eyes.

"Well, that won't do," he murmured, pulling off his hat with a flourish and tossing it to Elinor before diving gracefully into the water.

Elinor caught the hat instinctively, blinking in surprise. She barely had time to process the man's sudden actions before he surfaced again, now with Elizabeth in tow. He swam with practiced efficiency, hauling Elizabeth toward the dock. 

Elinor dropped to her knees, reaching out to help pull Elizabeth onto the wooden planks. The soldiers nearby were no help, standing frozen in shock until Elinor snapped at them. "Don't just stand there! Help me!"

Together, they laid Elizabeth out on her back. Her face was pale, her lips tinged blue. "She's not breathing," Elinor said sharply, her hands trembling as she brushed wet strands of hair from Elizabeth's face.The man climbed onto the dock, water streaming from his clothes as he crouched beside them. 

The man climbed onto the dock, water streaming from his clothes as he crouched beside them. "Stand aside, love," he said, flashing a crooked grin. Before Elinor could protest, he drew a small blade and expertly cut through the laces of Elizabeth's corset.

"What are you doing?" Elinor snapped, her voice rising.

"Saving her life," he replied curtly. The corset split, and with a gasp, Elizabeth coughed up water, her chest heaving as she took in gulps of air.

Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused before settling on Elinor. "Elinor..." she whispered hoarsely, her fingers curling weakly against the other woman's arm.

"I'm here," Elinor assured her, her voice steady despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

"A touching reunion," the man quipped, rising to his feet and shaking water from his hat before plopping it back onto his head. "Though I must say, I feel rather underappreciated for my part in this little drama."

Elinor turned to him, her hazel eyes narrowing. "And who might you be?" she asked, her tone clipped.

The man's grin widened as he performed a dramatic bow. "Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service."

Elinor's lips tightened into a thin line. "Well, Captain Sparrow, your assistance is noted. Now, if you'll excuse us, Miss Swann requires proper care."

Jack raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Fair enough, love," he said, stepping back with a mock salute.

Before Elinor could respond further, the sound of hurried footsteps signaled the arrival of Commodore Norrington and a group of soldiers. With a flourish, Norrington unsheathed his ceremonial sword, its gleaming edge catching the sunlight. "On your feet," he commanded coldly.

Jack rose with deliberate slowness, raising his hands in mock surrender. The tension in the air was palpable as Governor Swann arrived, draping his coat over Elizabeth's trembling shoulders. "Elizabeth, are you all right?" he asked, his voice a mixture of worry and relief.

Elizabeth nodded weakly, casting a glance toward Jack. "Yes, I'm fine," she replied before turning to Norrington. "Commodore, do you intend to kill my rescuer?"

Norrington hesitated, his grip on the sword tightening. Jack's eyes flickered with amusement, despite the blade still aimed at his chest. Finally, Norrington sheathed the weapon and extended a hand toward Jack. "I believe thanks are in order," he said stiffly.

Jack took the offered hand, his movements wary. Just as their hands clasped, Norrington yanked Jack's arm forward, tearing back his sleeve to reveal the branded 'P' on his wrist. A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers.

"Had a brush-up with the East India Trading Company, did you... pirate?" Norrington's tone dripped with disdain.

Elinor stood a few paces back, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The word pirate seemed to reverberate in the air, carrying with it an accusation that left no room for ambiguity. Jack, however, seemed unperturbed. He met Norrington's glare with a roguish grin. "Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please," he corrected.

The tension mounted as Norrington gestured to his men. "Keep your guns on him, men. Gillette, fetch some irons," he ordered.

Elinor's gaze darted between Jack and Elizabeth, who stepped forward suddenly, her movements purposeful despite her pale complexion. "Commodore, I must protest," she said firmly. "Pirate or not, this man saved my life".

Norrington's expression hardened. "One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness," he replied.

"But it seems to be enough to condemn him," Jack interjected smoothly, his chains clinking as he shifted. His tone was light, but the meaning behind his words hung in the air like a challenge.

"Indeed," Norrington replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips as Gillette snapped the manacles closed on Jack's wrists.

Elinor watched the exchange from the sidelines, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. Jack's casual bravado grated on her, though she couldn't help but grudgingly admire his nerve. She shifted her weight, her mind racing for any way to deescalate the situation before it spiraled further.

"Finally," Jack muttered, the word barely audible before his next movement caught everyone off guard. Lightning-fast, he snapped the loosened corset around the hand of the soldier holding the pistol and yanked. The weapon sailed into the water with a splash, and in the same motion, Jack used the chain of his manacles to loop around Elizabeth's neck, pulling her against him.

The assembled soldiers froze, their pistols now aimed at the pirate. Norrington raised a hand to keep his men from acting rashly.

"Commodore Norrington... my pistol and belt, please," Jack demanded, his tone deceptively polite as he began to back away toward the edge of the dock.

Elizabeth's fury was palpable, but she maintained her composure. "Miss Swann," Jack said with exaggerated politeness, though his tone retained its playful edge. "If you'll be so kind?"

"You are despicable," she snapped as she complied, handing him the belt and pistol.

Jack's grin widened. "I saved your life; now you've saved mine. We're square." He secured the belt and took a step back, turning so he could face the group while still holding Elizabeth as a shield. His gaze flickered briefly to Elinor, who had edged closer.

"I'll remember you," he said to her with a wink, his tone laden with innuendo. Elinor's expression didn't change, though her narrowed eyes spoke volumes about her opinion of him. She said nothing, her focus locked on Elizabeth, ensuring she was unharmed.

"Gentlemen," Jack called out, his voice taking on a theatrical quality as he neared the cargo gantry. "You will always remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow." With a flourish, he shoved Elizabeth away and seized a rope, using a counterweight to lift himself into the air.

Gunfire erupted as the soldiers fired, their shots missing as Jack swung out over the water. Norrington took careful aim, but Jack's timing was impeccable; he dropped from the rope just as the commodore's shot severed it. Using the chain of his manacles as an improvised zip line, Jack slid down to a waiting ship and vanished from sight.

The dock erupted into chaos as Norrington barked orders, sending his men scrambling in pursuit. Elinor hurried to Elizabeth's side, steadying her with a firm hand on her arm.

"Are you hurt?" Elinor asked, her voice low and urgent.

Elizabeth shook her head, her cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. "I'm fine. Go help capture him."

Elinor hesitated, her gaze flickering between Elizabeth and the direction Jack had disappeared. With a curt nod, she stepped back, leaving Elizabeth in the care of her father and Norrington's men. 

Now sprinting after Jack Sparrow, Elinor's boots clattered against the cobblestones. His movements were quick, almost too quick for someone shackled and burdened by soaked clothes. Despite herself, Elinor marveled at the pirate's audacity. He turned down a narrow alley and vanished into a shadowed building.

"The blacksmith's shop," Elinor murmured, breathless. Gathering her skirts, she slipped in through the slightly ajar door, her heart pounding.

The interior of the forge glowed with the faint orange light of embers, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The rhythmic clang of metal echoed as a shirtless Will Turner worked at the anvil, oblivious to the intruder behind him. Jack stepped lightly, his manacled hands somehow still deft as he grabbed a discarded blade from a rack.

"You're the one they're hunting. The pirate," Will said, his voice tight as he turned to face Jack, gripping a sword in his hand.

Jack tilted his head, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "You look familiar. Have I ever threatened you before?"

Will's jaw clenched. "I've made a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates."

Elinor edged closer, keeping to the shadows. Jack's eyes flickered in her direction briefly, the smirk widening. "Ah, the ever-loyal maid. Don't worry, love, I'll try not to ruin your employer's fine establishment."

Elinor scowled, her fists clenched, but said nothing. Will, noticing the interaction, moved to place himself between Jack and Elinor.

"Do you think this is wise, boy? Crossing blades with a pirate?" Jack's voice was calm, almost amused.

Will didn't answer. Instead, he lunged. Their swords clashed, the sound sharp and ringing. Jack matched him blow for blow, his movements fluid and unpredictable. "Excellent form," Jack quipped. "But how's your footwork?"

The two circled each other, their blades flashing in the forge's dim light. Elinor watched, her pulse racing, feeling utterly out of place. She was no fighter; years of maid's work had given her dexterity but little strength. Still, she couldn't look away, transfixed by the deadly dance before her.

"You need to find yourself a girl," Jack said, dodging one of Will's strikes. "Or maybe you already have, and you're too tongue-tied to do anything about it?"

Will's grip tightened on his blade, his movements becoming sharper. "I practice three hours a day so that when I meet a pirate... I can kill him." He punctuated the statement with a furious strike, forcing Jack to leap back.

Jack's chain-wrapped hand swung out, catching Will's blade and sending it clattering to the floor. Will scrambled for another weapon, finding a fresh sword from the racks lining the walls. Jack raised an eyebrow. "You make all these?"

"I do," Will replied, advancing again.

The fight carried on, Jack's movements increasingly resourceful as he used the forge's tools and surroundings to his advantage. He compressed the bellows, sending a shower of sparks into Will's face, buying himself precious seconds.

Elinor moved cautiously toward the unconscious blacksmith's master, Mr. Brown, slumped in the corner. Her eyes darted between the duel and the shelves beside her, searching for something she could use. Her hand closed around the neck of a thick glass bottle, heavy and solid.

Will managed to disarm Jack again, but the pirate's pistol was now aimed directly at his chest. The stand-off froze the room in silence. "You're lucky, boy. This shot's not meant for you," Jack said, uncocking the pistol.

At that moment, Elinor acted. She stepped forward and swung the bottle with all her strength. The glass shattered against Jack's head, and he crumpled to the ground, the pistol falling from his grip. The room was still for a beat, the sound of Jack's groan breaking the tension.

"Miss Taylor," Will said, stunned. "That was... unexpected."

Elinor stood over Jack's unconscious form, her chest heaving. "He was becoming a nuisance," she replied simply, though her hands trembled as she set the broken remains of the bottle aside.

The doors burst open, and Norrington's men flooded in, taking in the scene. Jack was quickly shackled, dragged to his feet despite his dazed state.

"Well done," Norrington said as he entered. His gaze shifted between Will and Elinor. "I'm not sure which of you deserves more credit for capturing this fugitive."

Elinor glanced at Will, then back at Norrington. "Just doing my civic duty," she said, her tone dry.

Jack groaned again as he was hauled away. He managed to look over his shoulder at Elinor, his grin returning despite the situation. "You've got quite the arm, love. Careful who you swing it at."

Elinor rolled her eyes and turned away, her focus now on calming her racing heart. This morning had been far more eventful than she had anticipated.

. . .