Pirates Of The Caribbean Fan Fiction ❯ The Rollin' Sea ❯ chapter one ( Chapter 1 )

Title: The Rollin' Sea

 

By: YukitoK

 

Rated:

 

Disclaimer: Disney owns this, Jack Sparrow belongs to Johnny Depp as far as I'm concerned, and…um…yeah I don't own it.

 

Lyrics: “Caroline and her Young Sailor Bold,” 19th century Irish ballad, as recorded by Andrea Corr in album Rogue's Gallery, compiled by Johnny Depp and Gore Verbinski: a Hal Willner production.

 

Warnings: NO mary sues, NO Elizabeth hating, NO Jack/Liz pairing, NO self-insert

 

Summary: When Elizabeth apparently dies in childbirth and her daughter with her, William is blamed for her murder Norrington comes hunting and Jack takes it upon himself to find the truth behind the insidious plot being hatched. J/W, W/E.

 

~*~

 

There lived a rich nobleman's daughter,

So comely and handsome and fair,

Her father possessed a great fortune,

Full thirty-five thousand a year.

 

~*~

 

Jack Sparrow leaned out over the bow of the Black Pearl, jet black eyes intent on the horizon.

 

“What is it Capt'n?” First-mate Gibbs asked cautiously from his arm.

 

“Somthin' on the wind Mister Gibbs,” said Jack absently, quietly, as if talking to himself.

 

“What do you reckon that be?”

 

“Dunno, it's a outlandish sort feeling,” said Jack, looking down at his compass, “East.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Change of heading…East.”

 

“Ah, but the only thing that be to the east be….”

 

Jack grinned, “Aye, Jamaica.”

 

~*~

 

She being his only daughter,

Caroline is her name we are told,

One day from her drawing-room window

She espied there a young sailor bold.

 

~*~

 

An ill wind also blew in Port Royal where Elizabeth Turner was long in labor with the delivery of her first born.

 

Will Turner sat outside their bedroom, anxiously waiting for news. He played with the pocket watch that Elizabeth had given him. The front was enameled with a picture of a black ship. She had had it specially commissioned for him. The tiny figure of Jack Sparrow could almost be seen at the black ship's helm. He flipped it over in his hand and read the inscription for the hundredth time.

 

`W.H.T Husband, Father.'

 

He ran a rough thumb over the inscription, feeling the small groves in the metal of the back and stared out the dark window.

 

He clicked the plain golden watch open and snapped it closed without looking at it.

 

Elizabeth's hoarse scream tore the night air and Will shut his eyes against the sound. It had been… `click' nine hours. She had gone into labor at 3 that afternoon and it was now nearing mid-night.

 

The pregnancy had not been easy on the slim woman and birth was not being any kinder it seemed.

 

Will wished her father was still alive, he was so very anxious about this. But Mr. Swann had passed away peacefully. He had lived a long life, and deserved the eternal rest he now enjoyed.

 

The bedroom went quiet and he rose, the door opened and the old mid-wife, Mrs. Beatrice Channing slipped out. She looked pale as she shut the door behind her, a small bundle in her arms.

 

“What's wrong Mrs. Channing?” Will said, dread rising is throat. His black brows were drawn up, a gentle hand on the bundle.

 

“The baby is dead Mr. Turner, there was no breath in her.”

 

Will felt his heart break in two as he took the small unmoving body. He uncovered her face. Her face was blue, but dark hair covered her head and her brown eyes were half open, her tiny fists curled at her chest.

 

The tears that had threatened to overwhelm him at the bad news now overcame him.

 

“She's perfect. Little Catherine,” he caressed the tiny cold cheek.

 

“Mister Turner?” The mid-wife said gently.

 

“Yes,” Will choked.

 

“Mrs. Turner, she didn't survive the birth my boy. I am so sorry.”

 

Will's eyes snapped to hers, Mrs. Channing watched his world crumble in his brown eyes.

 

Will's mind was numb, “Let me see her.”

 

“Mr. Turner please, she's in no fit state to be seen,” said Mrs. Channing standing between Will and the door.

 

Confusion and grief tore at William's young face, “I need to go somewhere.”

 

“Where will you go?” asked the plump woman.

 

The innocent brown eyes were wide and glazed, “I don't know, maybe to Jack.”

 

It was the mid-wife's turn to be confused, “Jack? Jack who?”

 

“Jack Sparrow.”