Disclaimer: All canon Pirates of the Caribbean characters are owned by Disney - not me. I do not make any profit from this venture. It's purely to keep me sane in my otherwise insane life. :)

A/N (Aug 2017): As you'll no doubt have noticed, this story was started many moons ago with the wonderful Nytd as my amazing beta. Along the way, I lost my muse and for other personal reasons, gave up writing altogether. I promised Nytd I'd finish writing this and so I have tentatively dug up the ol' quill and ink, and resumed writing. You'll probably observe that the writing style changes over the course of the chapters, but I do hope you'll enjoy the story nonetheless.

I've gone and done the extremely naughty thing where I've tweaked the original plot, but before you come at me with knives and pitchforks, I'll say that it's in an effort to stick to canon. And yes, I do solemnly swear that this will be J/E in the end.

So if you take yourself back to the end of AWE, here is '24 Gurus'...

24 Gurus

The Arrow Maker

Sometimes, a man becomes so immersed, so engrossed, so engaged in an assignment that he plunges himself into the black oblivion of his own unmindful mind. He who confuses concentration with neglect, and neglect with preoccupation, meets disappointment and sorrow; like the Arrow Maker, who lost his position because he was too captivated in his job to even see the King pass by.

Jack hoped she hadn't seen it, but her small, proud smile betrayed nothing but the triumph of her cunningly said words, "It would never have worked out between us."

The contemptuous English lady was no longer speaking. The opulent dress, with its corset, frills and layers of skirts was gone, replaced now by an emerald green Chinese garb, settling finely over her shapely curves, revealing her true form: the form of a pirate. The hand that had once held an elegant folding fan, now rested lightly on the pommel of a sword, still quite elegantly. The cultured tone on the aristocratic tongue diminished to a roll of plebeian words punctuated with cocky arrogance: the confidence of a pirate; the confidence of Captain Jack Sparrow. He smiled then, smiling at their similarities even through their differences: the sky always meets the ocean at the horizon.

"Keep telling yourself that, darlin'."

But as always, the sky could never become the ocean. No one beats the bloody expert. Even she seemed to catch that, smiling sweetly, admiringly, almost innocently at him. He hoped, then, that she didn't see the flicker of emotions behind his laughing visage. She didn't. He knew, for she took a step towards him and her eyes momentarily fell down pointedly from his eyes before snapping back up. She knew not of the agitation within him as his arrogance, his impudence, and his temerity took over, the words leaving his tongue craftily, "Once was quite enough."

The smile slid off her face then, as she spoke her final words to him, solemnity hovering below the surface.

"Thank you."

Her eyes washed over his expressions one last time, as though memorising his details. Then she turned, an abrupt shift of shoulders, disappearing rapidly off the deck and down the ladder of the Pearl. A sense of déjà vu swept over him as his white-gold smile diffused. He turned to look over the railing, as did the other men, to see the Pirate King rowing steadily away. She'd barely reached the bank when she jumped out of the longboat and hurtled in the direction of the lone figure on the shore. He, too, ran towards her and locked her in an embrace, their lips colliding as she stood on her toes, the surf swishing at their ankles.

"BACK to work, you bilge-sucking seadogs!" bellowed Jack, loudly enough to shake the farthest sailor. "Weigh starboard anchor and hoist the mizzen!"

The consequent scurry and scattered yells of "aye" made him wonder if they –

"– have a heading?" Gibbs echoed his question. Annoyed, Jack frowned slightly at his first mate and pursed his lips. Gibbs took a step back, evidently nervous. His thick eyebrows knotted at his forehead before he leaned forward and asked in a lowered voice, "Everythin' good, Captain?"

"Of course, everything's bloody good. Tortuga."

He turned, promptly and ceremoniously, his head held high, and swaggered towards the helm.

As he glided up the stairs to the quarterdeck, he instinctively slipped his right hand into his coat pocket, but when his fingers touched the wooden texture of the compass, he came to a halt, smiling soberly to himself. He looked back at the stretch of land which was rapidly decreasing in size. It seemed isolated save for the two swords mired in the sand, glinting in the sunlight.

A forced cough drew his attention back to the quarterdeck where Barbossa stood at the wheel observing him with an expression of mild amusement. The man had aged over the last thirteen years, since the first time Jack had met him, becoming more knowledgeable, more cunning and more dangerous. He cast his former first mate a distrustful look and in response, he received a sardonic stretch of lips over the usual scraggly beard.

Putting on his customary airy demeanour, Jack turned on the step, descended onto the main deck, and paraded towards the prow.

A fragment of Elizabeth's soul vanished with the green flash, another with the salty breeze on her dried tear-tracks, and a third with the waves withdrawing into the sea, licking her ankles and digging her heels deeper into the sandy bed. Next to her, Will's footprints were long engulfed by the incoming tide. Now she was sinking alone. No one to stand by her, no one to protect her.

The sky was still a magnificent reddish orange, signalling the aftermath of sunset. She'd witnessed mesmeric sunsets before, accompanied many times by her father, or James, or Will; all of who were lost to a world unknown to her. She ran a tired, roughened hand over her eyes, drawing it gradually over her cheek and finally her lips. Will's final kisses were already fading. She knew not whether this was part of the curse. It was a cruel curse: one that bestowed itself on him as well as her.

She sighed heavily, hoping to undo the knot that seemed to be forming in her chest- a feeling equivalent to that which she'd experienced while wearing a corset. Actually, this was worse. This had to be the meaning of pain. Feeling progressively fatigued, she turned and walked unsteadily to the rock where the chest was perched.

Coarsened fingertips traced the patterns on the metal. It was beautiful; not sinister as she'd first judged, but majestic and soothing under her skin. This was probably the closest she would ever get to her husband for the next ten years and already, she could hear the harsh jeers of society reprehending her for associating with pirates, dismissing the child that she could be carrying, no doubt taking it to be a bastard. She wanted to cry, to scream, to spill her heart, but the tears didn't come. It seemed that she'd cried her fill tonight. Her heart was a spiritless stone in her chest, quite similar to Will's. She picked up the chest and held it in a gentle embrace. It definitely felt heavier than before.

Sliding down onto the sand, she pulled her knees together and held the chest to her breasts, listening to the steady thumping. Her own heart seemed to beat to the same rhythm.

I should leave. But where? Where would she go? Who to? There was no one left; every kin, every friend, every acquaintance, lost, dead or distanced. Except... Don't think it. Too late. His final words echoed in her mind along with the ridicule, the sneer. Something deep inside her lurched painfully and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight off the feeling. She knew she deserved his admonition and his rejection. He'd hurt her deeply. It's strange how he had access to the accurate methods of taunting, provoking and distressing her.

Pirate...

Elizabeth jerked awake as the cool waves nibbled her toes. The tide was coming in. How long had she been asleep? The sky was a blanket of velvety black, the stars and the crescent moon hanging serenely upon it. She thought she'd heard a faint slithering noise, but she'd related that to a snake rather than the hissing of the ocean waves, drawing off the shore. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and ran a palm over her features, feeling the marks left by the chest on her numb right cheek. Unwise for a woman to be unarmed, she thought sleepily. Somewhere in the distance, her sword glistened.

Unwise to reveal yourself as a woman at all, she contemplated. She snatched her sash and with a ferocious tug, tore it in half. She tried plaiting her hair but the salt and sweat from the war made it impossible for her to even run her fingers through it without catching a rat's nest every few inches. She gave up and tied a ponytail instead, using one piece of the sash to secure it. With the other, she wrapped the cloth around her nose and mouth, covering the majority of her face, revealing only her eyes. She'd take this mask off once she reached a nearby town; it would draw too much unwanted attention. After all, she was wanted for treason, pillaging, associating with pirates and all the other crimes the Company had added to the list, half of which were inaccurate.

Sighing, she caught hold of the chest with her left hand and stood up from her sandy bed, heading towards her sword.

It was then that she'd seen it: a definite movement from the corner of her eye. Maybe it was the trick of the moonlight that had caused it, but Elizabeth's instincts were indicating otherwise. Forcing her breathing to remain steady, she continued to advance towards her weapon, never coming to a halt until she felt the familiar cold hilt in her hand. Elizabeth listened hard. But over the hammering of her own heart, it was difficult to distinguish anything except the waves meeting the shore.

Then there was a different sound: a tinkling sound, like coins clinking against one another, or trinkets...

But Elizabeth's trail of thoughts was interrupted by the sensation of cold metal being placed on her right shoulder, next to her neck.

"Show yourself." A deep, gruff voice issued from alarmingly close vicinity. She didn't know if she recognised it, and though it seemed to hold a foreign accent, it sounded somewhat familiar. Maybe it's feigned. Oddly, she felt herself relax.

She took a bold step forward, grasped her sword and turned around to face her potential adversary.

It was a male figure. Elizabeth had deduced that from the pitch of his voice before and now, her judgement was confirmed by his deep breathing and the preciseness and surety with which he placed his weapon upon her jugular. It wasn't easy to make out his features since the moonlight fell on her partially masked face, not his.

She narrowed her eyes, and spoke in a feigned deeper voice resembling, she hoped, one that of a young boy. "I may command you to do the same."

Yellow and white teeth glimmered in the dark. Then without warning, she leapt backwards, away from the tip of the gleaming blade, moving her own sword in front of her. The swords met with a reverberating metallic clank and immediately, her blood started rushing as it had done during the battle.

He blocked her attacks with much ease, passing a few sardonic comments and laughs which were quite incoherent to Elizabeth as she concentrated on disarming the figure, waiting for the opportune moment. Her opponent was evidently skilled. He moved backwards and forwards, never side to side, so as to avoid the moonlight reaching his face. Somehow, staying in the shadows and hiding his identity made him seem more victorious, more dangerous. His every move was calculated. In a moment, he had given her a sharp, unexpected jab in the ribs with his sword's pommel. Elizabeth stumbled more due to surprise than pain, and he took her moment of distraction to snatch her weapon from her grip. He didn't attack.

"Show yourself," he repeated in a calm voice, stepping closer.

She stared at him. He lowered the swords. She suspected he already knew the answer. She knew she was at a disadvantage. No longer. She hurled the metal chest at his feet and he yelled, staggering backwards, losing his balance and collapsing onto the sand.

Moonlight bathed his features.

He wasn't hurt. Leaning with his elbows in the sand, he met her gaze, and with ease and adopting a slightly sneering tone, he said her name, "Captain Elizabeth Swann."

Elizabeth removed the cloth masking her face. The man continued to peer up at her, still smiling boldly. For a fleeting moment, she hoped it was Jack, even thought it was Jack, but it wasn't. She'd met him before but her mind couldn't locate where...

He stood up and returned her sword, hilt first.

"I was unaware as to the apparent level of my fame."

He chuckled.

"I'm known as Jin Hai. I sail aboard the Empress, but of course, it cannot be helped that the captain is unaware of her own apparent crew members." Then before she could retort, he added, "Tai Huang sends for you. The ship is afloat off the far harbour. It will take us about an hour to walk there."

Of course, that's where she'd seen him– the Empress! She'd forgotten about her ship; she had totally forgotten to consider her when she'd thought all hope was lost. She felt a pang of guilt; her attitude as a captain was yet to thrive. Jin Hai must have read her expressions, for he cleared his throat and held an outstretched hand to her. She accepted it, rising to her feet and sheathing her sword.

"Which way?" she asked, walking past the man, away from the water and towards the shadows of the trees in the distance.

"Won't you be taking that with you, Captain?"

It was a few long moments before Elizabeth registered Jin Hai indicating the chest. Pivoting on the spot, she walked back wordlessly, hefted the object, and turned back to her crewmate.

"This way."

She began walking in pace with the man. She couldn't believe her negligence. She'd barely been bestowed the responsibility of the chest for a few hours and already, she'd disregarded it. Her husband was in that chest, the same person with whom she'd sworn wedding vows, the same person who she loved. Could she really have been that careless, that capricious, just because she'd seen a gleam of hope for her future? She swallowed, disgusted. How could she be so selfish?

The answer sprang to her mind sooner than she'd have appreciated.

Pirate.

"Damn you, Jack Sparrow," she mumbled, barely audible.

"Yes, 'damn you Jack Sparrow', indeed," came the amused reply.

She glanced sideways at Jin Hai. Even in the dark, she could see a small smile playing on his lips.

"You know him?" she asked, diverting her eyes back.

"Everyone in Singapore who knows of the Old Temple knows Jack Sparrow. The stories are usually intoxicated whispers in opium houses, though they've died down now. It has been over a decade since I last repeated the version that fell upon my ears. Sao Feng had forbidden us to speak of it, you see."

He came to a halt as they reached a path leading through a patch of trees. Then ducking under a low-hanging branch of a tree, he continued to lead the way. Elizabeth hurried on next to him. She knew it was foolish to provoke the man to discuss that which was outlawed by their former leader, but as always, the damned serpentine curiosity writhed deep inside tauntingly. Silence rang between the two pirates. Somewhere far behind them, the waves continued to conquer the sandy beach, their music still perceptible.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

He turned his head to look at Elizabeth. Though the trees blocked out majority of the moonlight, she could see him squinting his eyes slightly, surveying her wordlessly. He seemed to be debating.

"I am unsure of the details. I have heard several versions of the story."

"And what is your version?"