Spirited Away

Part One

1.

Oh, how Elizabeth Swann abhorred propriety and its wretched chains! As she had grown older it had swooped down upon her like some crotchety, old governess, straight from England. With each added year the casual activities of her childhood became labeled improper. Climbing trees was deemed boyish, as well as beach combing and her unusual interest in navel affairs and the blade. Her romanticized fantasies of pirates were considered worse, unnatural even. But considered even more unnatural for a young lady of her station was her relationship with the young blacksmith apprentice, William Turner.

Remembering the conversation she had held with her father earlier that day, Elizabeth scowled. She'd show them. If her father thought a simple lecture would keep her from visiting Will, especially on the night of his sixteenth birthday, then he was sorely mistaken. She viewed her profile in the looking glass in the corner of her bed chamber.

She was dressed in breeches and a shirt that she had stolen from the hamper, owned undoubtedly by some poor serving man. The breeches were pleasantly snug yet liberating. The white shirt was snug as well, but only in certain areas. She blushed self-consciously, knowing that even in this garb her breasts betrayed her identity as a woman. They had swelled significantly in size since she had turned fourteen, a fact she wasn't sure whether to be proud or embarrassed of. It certainly made disguising herself more difficult. Deciding that it couldn't be helped she stuffed her abundance of light brown curls under a large brimmed hat, grabbed a lumpy package off her bed, and made her way silently to her window.

Snuffing out her candle, she swung her feet out the threshold and unto the overgrown trellis just below with the skill of one experienced with subterfuge. Navigating her way down with the package under one arm, she almost laughed at the simplicity of it. In no time at all her feet had safely touched the spongy earth of the flowerbed, no doubt obliterating some of Gardener's prized roses. Smirking, she tugged on a stray curl and turned towards the darkened town. Against her father's wishes she and Will were going to celebrate his birthday and there was nothing the Governor could do about it.

2.

William Turner scratched Mr. Brown's mule behind its ears absently, reflecting on how abysmal his sixteenth birthday had turned out to be. He had started out his morning with pleasant enough prospects. It was his birthday, after all and the sky was clear and blue with the hope of a new day. But shortly before noon clouds had begun to gather on the horizon, both metaphorically and in reality, as his day began to descend upon a decidedly downward spiral. Mr. Brown, still somewhat lucid in the mornings, started by berating him on the quality of the blades he had been making. When William made the mistake of smarting off and asking how many blades he had made lately, Will received swift punishment. Mr. Brown had not been amused by Will's jibe at all and it had earned Will a nasty whipping and the loss of a month's pocket money.

After Mr. Brown's tirade, the elder man had predictably returned to the bottle, falling into his normal sloth-like state. As his snores filled the smithy, William hammered away at his work, letting his anger flow up his arm and into the beautifully, glowing metal. The steel rang in his ears like the sweetest of songs, dulling his pain.

This manner of stress relief sufficed for awhile, but as the hours passed, Will grew increasingly annoyed. Elizabeth usually visited him by now and her absence irked him more than necessary. He longed for her laugh, her smile, her keen insight and even her pert questions. She was his best friend, and an odd one at that. In the past four years, the young Miss Swann had become quite the fixture at Mr. Brown's smithy. She usually sat wherever she could find space, swinging her legs boyishly, her eyes searching the room with ardent interest. Their activities varied from day to day. When they had been younger an afternoon together had often meant escaping to the beach to search for sea shells or running through her father's garden, climbing apple trees and picking the bountiful fruit. On all of their little adventures, she had been the leader, even if William was two years her senior. She always brushed off his feeble attempts to protect her, not caring that she was the Governor's daughter. In the later years, as Mr. Brown's drinking problem caught up with him, she would just sit with him in the smithy most days, asking him questions and watching as he worked. She never complained of boredom and if the silence between them spanned too long she would sing that horrible pirate song just to annoy him into speech. It was rather endearing actually.

There were many things about Elizabeth that were endearing, he thought wretchedly, but he'd never be for her. It didn't matter that of late his heart would not stop pounding in her presence. It did not matter that recently his stomach flopped when she gifted him with one of her frequent smiles. She was a lady and he was just a miserable blacksmith. Just thinking of the suitors that would line up at her door in a few years made him burn with jealousy.

He wondered if she even noticed.

Continuing to scratch the mule's ears, he wondered if he should give up waiting for Elizabeth and go to bed. It was awfully late and he had to be up early tomorrow morning to fill some of Captain Norrington's orders for the fort. He highly doubted that Mr. Brown would be willing to leave his rum bottle long enough to lend a hand. Will sighed heavily and patted the mule on its nose.

Just as he was standing up, he heard the smithy's door creak open behind him. He turned warily. There Elizabeth stood, dressed in a scandalous, yet not altogether surprising, outfit. She pulled off an oversized hat to liberate her mass of brown curls. They fell to her waist and settled there as she grinned at Will impishly. Will's eyes wandered over her body before he could catch himself, resting on the two obvious swells beneath her shirt. He gulped heavily, reddening in embarrassment. Lately Elizabeth had matured from an uncontrollable, stick of a girl into something more. When she was dressed in such immodest clothing it was harder to ignore.

"Elizabeth," he breathed, "You shouldn't be here."

Even as he spoke the words, he burst into a huge smile. She shouldn't be here, but he was glad that she was. He was forever grateful that Elizabeth would choose him as his friend, especially considering how destitute he truly was.

Her smile grew even more mischievous, at this. Not bothering to keep her voice down, she parried, "I shouldn't be here? Well, I suppose I'd better go then. I'll take your presents with me if you don't mind."

She made to turn towards the door, but before she could reach it Will grabbed her hand, laughing. She began to laugh as well. The noise was beautiful, even more so than the sound of steel being tamed by flames and force. He cherished her laugh, which was as wild and uncontrollable as she was at times. He felt his secret love for her flare in a most unpleasant way. Glad that she could not hear the erratic beating of his heart, he carefully let go of her stick thin arms. Sitting on a stone ledge next to the kiln, he patted the space next to him. She flopped down, causing her curls to bounce in his face. As they brushed against his skin, he caught the faint scent of apple blossoms mixed with the aroma of tea and jam. It was all he could do to keep from bringing a clump of it to his nose and breathing in deeply. Instead he focused on the lumpy package resting in her lap.

"Presents, you say?" His throat was surprisingly dry. He reached for the package, barely containing his eagerness. He hardly ever got presents. Even back in England when his father had still been around, they could scarcely afford to put food on the table, let alone afford for luxuries. Elizabeth had given him his first real present the Christmas he'd arrived in Port Royal. It had been a tiny, leather-bound copy of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. She had taught him how to read from it. He still had the book under his mattress, grubby and worn from repeated readings.

Her laugh filled the air yet again, interrupting his musings, as she slapped his hand away. "Yes, presents. It's your birthday, isn't it? But no snatching! Where's your sense of decorum, Master Turner?"

The last bit sounded strangely muffled and desperate. Will looked into Elizabeth's eyes with concern and saw only playfulness mirrored there. Their eyes remained locked for a few seconds before deciding that he must have imagined it. He matched her teasing tone.

"So, Miss Swann…." Elizabeth scowled at the use of her formal name. "What'd you bring me?"

"It's Elizabeth, Will." She pursed her lips before continuing. "And as for the presents…. let's see." She reached into her sack, looking as jolly as Saint Nick on Christmas Eve. He was startled to see delicate smatterings of pink appear on her cheeks as she pulled out the first item. Elizabeth was hardly the sort of girl susceptible to fits of blushing. Will remained just as clueless even as she laid out the offering before him, a kerchief, died a bright cherry red. She unfolded it for him and saw the embroidery around the edges. It was rather sloppy and he immediately suspected it to be Elizabeth's work.

"I've noticed how you've taken to wearing kerchiefs," she said as way as explanation, gesturing towards his neck. "I embroidered this one for you. See along the edges? They're flames, like the fire in the kiln."

"You made this for me?" He asked, barely keeping the awe out of his voice. He knew how much Elizabeth hated such girlish things as sewing, yet she had taken time to make such a treasure for him. He was amazed and very flattered.

"Yes," she verified for a second time. "Do you… do you like it much?" Her voice faltered nervously.

"It's wonderful," he confirmed, with a small grin. He reached up and tied it about his neck, marveling in its soft material. "I shall treasure it."

"Good," she said, her confidence apparently back, "I spent forever on the blasted thing." She sniggered at the shocked expression on his face as she cursed.

"And now…" She reached yet again into the bag and pulled out two large bottles of whiskey. "We celebrate."

Will was immediately guarded. "Elizabeth, are you sure that this is such a good idea?" His thoughts immediately strayed to the horrible Mr. Brown, sleeping off his booze upstairs. Brown had done horrible things before in his perpetually inebriated state but he hadn't always been like that. He had once been a happy successful man. The drinking hadn't come until that death of his wife. It was the continued drinking of that rum that had addled his brains in the end. Will hunted for any excuse not to take a sip. "What would your father say?"

"Pox on my father's opinion," she stated, further surprising William. "Anyway, it's your birthday. Father always lets me drink spirits on my birthday."

"Heavily watered down, no doubt."

Elizabeth glowered at him from over the bottles. She flounced up, "Very well, I fear I shall have to take my leave then, Master Turner." She made it half way to the door before William stopped her again.

"Maybe just a little," he said.

Elizabeth grinned spectacularly.

3.

Two hours later both bottles of whiskey had been drained and Will and Elizabeth lay in each other's arms, staring at the ceiling of the smithy, giggling like school girls. They had started out merely sipping from the bottles, wincing as the bitter liquid burned their throats. But soon that burning had dulled and all that was left was a warm, pleasant feeling in the pits of their stomachs, working its way through their whole bodies down to their toes. They took large swigs, toasting everybody from the king of England down to bloody Mr. Brown's mule. The bottles had dried up far too quickly for their tastes, but the effects still lingered. Will felt amazingly giddy, the girl of his dreams in his arms, laughing at all of his antics. His earlier concerns felt distant and imaginary now. He couldn't remember why he had been so upset in the first place.

"'Zat one looks a bit like my old gov'ness, ol' miss whatzername, ya know?" Elizabeth gesticulated madly as she slurred her words, tracing invisible pictures in the grain of the wood. Will nodded fervently, even though he hadn't the foggiest what 'ol' miss whatzername' looked like. Just as long as Elizabeth smiled again, he was happy. As though reading his mind she grinned, snuggling up closer to Will and adding, "You're very muscular, William. Handsome-like. 'Ave I ever told you zat, Mahster Turner?"

Will felt himself flush gloriously. "No."

"Well, you are." Her eyes became surprisingly clear. She turned her face towards his, barely inches away. He could feel the warmth of her breath. It was more intoxicating that any spirits that they had been drinking. "I rather fancy you, Will. A lot. Far too much."

"Me too… Elizabeth." Her lips called to him like a siren. He felt himself longing to kiss her. He knew that he could not have her in the long run but now…. now they had each other. He loved her. He always had.

"Elizabeth," he repeated, closing the gap between their lips.

At that very second the doors to the smithy slammed open, startling the two teenagers apart. Elizabeth swayed to her feet, just as two lines of soldiers stormed in, followed by her frantic father dressed in simply his night shirt. She saw with a smirk that he had left his large powdered wig at home.

Will, too, climbed to his feet, leaning against the wall for support as his world swirled about him. His eyes finally came into focus on the Governor's face. What he saw there filled him with dread. He watched with trepidation as the expression on his countenence turned from one of fear, to relief, and finally to anger. The elder man's eyes took in everything from the empty whiskey bottles to Elizabeth's disheveled and dirty menswear. When he sighted the two imprints of where they had been laying together on the ground, his face turned a delicate shade of puce. He grabbed his daughter roughly by the shoulders and began to guide her from the shop. His shouts filled the smithy.

"What were you thinking, girl? You deliberately disobeyed me! I was scared to death waking up and finding you gone. But then I realized where you would be. Where is your sense of decorum? Your propriety? Your pride? Lying with common street urchins like some strumpet! Your mother would be ashamed."

Will winced at the Governor's slur of his station but he knew that he deserved it. He glanced down shamed faced. What he hadn't expected was for Elizabeth to whirl around to face her father and begin shouting back.

"IT WASN'T LIKE THAT AT ALL!"

Her father scowled, "Then what was it like? I smell spirits on your breath. Do you know what this would do to your reputation if this leaked out?"

For once Elizabeth was silent. The Governor continued, "Now, gentlemen," he gestured to the officers, "Please escort Miss Swann back to the manor."

One of the men took Elizabeth's shoulders and guided her out of the smithy. Just as they reached the door, she chanced one backward glance, her eyes full of longing. Will met her gaze for one moment before his line of vision was blocked by the Governor's form. Elizabeth disappeared out into the night.

Governor's Swann's voice was a low rumbling, laced with anger, in Will's ears. The boy could not look in his face without flinching at what he saw there. He knew that the Governor could easily have him sent very far away. He could make sure that his daughter would never see him again. Will knew he would deserve it.

"I never want you seeing my daughter again. You aren't good for her? Do you understand me boy?"

Will nodded. The warm feeling of the whiskey had begun to fade away. His head rather hurt actually.

If he had been looking at the Governor's face he would have seen it soften a little. "Do what's best for her, you hear?"

Will nodded again, fighting off traitorous tears.

"Good boy," the Governor patted his shoulder, before sweeping out of the smithy, taking his men with him. "Give Mr. Brown my regards."

Will slid to his knees, breathing hard. He had suddenly remembered why his day had been so horrid.

4.

Will didn't see Elizabeth again for some months. It was as though her father had spirited her away, never to be heard from again. He heard word that she had a new, strict governess minding her now. Whether this was true or not did not matter for Will had seen no sign of her, even in the back of her father's carriage. At first Will had missed her desperately but as the days spanned from weeks into months, the bitter burn of her absence dulled into indifference. All he had to sooth him now was the music of the steel as he beat it into submission.

He wore Elizabeth's kerchief everyday.

One day, five months after his birthday, he heard quite the fuss outside his smithy. He set down his tongs and rushed to see what was the matter. He stepped outside into the sunlight and glanced down the street. His heart leaped as he saw Governor's carriage prattle to a stop outside a nearby fabric shop. He stepped forward instinctively, holding his breath as a serving man opened the carriage door.

Out stepped Elizabeth.

Only it wasn't his Elizabeth. This Elizabeth was as distant as a goddess. Dressed in a gorgeously elaborate gown, her hair was pulled up ornately, just a few ringlets escaping. Her face was powdered lightly and she walked like a lady, nose in the air and as prim as a china doll. A fine gold chain hung from her neck, what ever bauble hung at the end was tucked in her bodice. He felt his heart drop. No, this wasn't his Elizabeth at all.

Elizabeth turned slightly and saw him. She opened her mouth a little as though she were about to shout a greeting but then a stern looking woman stepped out of the carriage behind her. Her mouth rapidly shut at the woman's appearance.

He took a few steps forward, uncertainly, forgetting her father's warning.

"Elizabeth."

Her head inclined slightly, she merely nodded, "Good day, Master Turner." She bit her lip and turned away as though simply uttering his name burned her.

Then the woman guided her into the shop, casting a condescending glance over her shoulder.

Will was left to stand there. He felt as though he had been slapped. Elizabeth had been his best friend. He had loved her. Surely he merited more then a 'Good day' after all these months. His blood pounding in his ears he tore off her scarf and left it at the foot of the carriage, storming back into the welcoming heat of his shop.

As he pounded away at the metal, he felt his eyes prickle.

But he wouldn't let anybody see his tears.

5.

Elizabeth curled up in her bed, clutching the handkerchief she had sewed Will all those months ago. When she had seen it, discarded in the mud like some worthless rubbish, her heart broke.

She buried her head in her pillow. She could not help but to cry, but she wouldn't let anybody see her tears.