With This Ring, or Fate Intervenes

Marooned on a desert isle with a certain wobble-legged pirate, Elizabeth finds herself fighting for survival, and falling in love not with the legend of Jack Sparrow, but the man. Rescue is bittersweet, and in a devil's bargain she trades herself to Norrington for Jack's freedom. Will she become the Commodore's wife, or will Fate intervene? Set during COTBP-ish... Sparrabeth!

Author's Note: I'm playing a little with the timeline here, setting this earlier than what I think the movies are intended. Rather than Jack being a contemporary of Black Beard, he shares the Caribbean with the likes of Henry Morgan. (Yes, that Cap'n Morgan, the dude on the Rum bottle). You can skip the history lesson if you like, but I'm including this bit of info as a premise for my story. I very much recommend the book Empire of Blue Water.

Interestingly enough, circa 1660-70, the English didn't really have much of a navy, and Jamaica depended on pirates, privateers or otherwise, for defence against their long time enemy, the Spanish, as well as the ever-wavering French and Dutch. A pirate captain could walk down the street of Port Royal and lock gazes on equal standing with a nobleman or planter. They were accepted member of society, even if the deal made the more "law-abiding" citizens a hair nervous.

Before the earthquake that destroyed most of the town into the sea in 1692, Port Royal boasted one of the richest economies of the world. Not due to sugar, that would come later. Due to the plunder the buccaneers brought into port and spent with wild abandon. Mostly, Spanish prizes. In time Jamaica would turn on the Brethren, preferring to hang them rather than do business with them. Henry Morgan himself would become the assistant governor of the island, and send many of his brothers to the gallows.

Disclaimer: Obviously, don't own it, mate.

Chapter 1: Revelations in a Mango Tree

Port Royal: 1678

Elizabeth Swann had not thought of Captain Jack Sparrow in years, and yet as the carriage rattled down the bumpy cobbled streets of Port Royal, she could not shake her childhood memories of the man, or speculation after the tales she'd heard of him thereafter. What had set her off? A glimpse, perhaps, of a dark head in the crowd, or a profile that seemed so very familiar?

Well, truth be told, Elizabeth spent much of her time daydreaming. She day dreamed, because she wasn't bloody allowed to do anything else that was interesting in the least. Perhaps it was only a matter of time that her over-active imagination wandered to Captain Sparrow, the once dashing privateer turned fugitive from the Crown.

My, how handsome he'd once been. She'd been twelve, the last time she saw Jack Sparrow. A wild girl-child on the cusp of embarking upon the treacherous trail to becoming a woman, and she'd only just begun to notice the opposite sex with an appraising eye.

She'd found Captain Sparrow very handsome indeed.

Sometimes he'd come to her father's home, the Governor's mansion, to discuss business. Sometimes in the company of that blackguard Henry Morgan, or Hector Barbossa, but sometimes alone. Now, she could only imagine the plots that had gone on in Weatherby Swann's study. The commissions made to cut logwood on the coast of Honduras, and should Captain Sparrow encounter any Spanish vessels that offered hostility in the meantime, what could be the harm in engaging the enemy and bringing home a little gold to spread around?

Things were different then. When she was a girl pirates were tolerated, nay, even celebrated with a wink and a nod, in the streets of Port Royal. Weatherby Swann had made his cut of the plunder. Now, pirates were hanged, and their corpses left hanging in the harbor as fair warning for any of the Brethren who thought to come too close.

One particular occasion Captain Sparrow visited their home protruded in her memory. She and Will had been playing pirates, running wild as Arrowak Indians across the house, chasing each other two and fro with sticks. Will had not yet begun to learn to use a sword, or to teach her the skill in kind. They had settled for clacking their sticks and squealing obscenities (or at least, rough-sounding words they could get away with in front of the servants, and imagined as fearsome).

Jack, left waiting a very long time for Weatherby to receive him, had watched with great amusement, his dark eyes glittering for the children's games. She'd trembled with excitement when the famous Captain deigned to instruct her as to how to actually hold a sword, kneeling down beside her, his sun-browned hand, fingers bedecked in rings, clasped over hers on the stick.

She remembered his sleek black hair pulled neatly into a queue with a ribbon, leaving his sharp clean-shaven cheekbones and well defined jaw unobstructed from a curious eye. He'd smelled fresh, but exotic, spicy. He'd been dressed very well, a snow-white neck cloth pinned with an emerald brooch, a blue tailored coat and silk vest and clean breeches, boots polished to a reflective sheen.

Jack's benevolent lesson soon resulted in the reward of Elizabeth breaking a fine china vase in pursuit of Will, the screeching of the maid, and the children sent outside to play in the garden. The Captain vacated the scene with a chuckle and a wink, and was soon after received by Governor Swann, if for anything to preserve the lifespan of his remaining fragile valuables.

Later, Will dared Elizabeth that she could not climb to the highest fruit of the mango tree that presided over the courtyard.

Elizabeth never could resist a dare.

She'd climbed to the lofty mango and plucked the heavy fruit, throwing it down at Will triumphantly. The blacksmith's apprentice dodged the missile with agility, and in that moment while looking down Elizabeth was struck with the most horrifying case of vertigo.

Climbing up had been one thing, but she suddenly couldn't fathom how she would make it back down.

Captain Sparrow and Governor Swann emerged from the house to investigate the clamor in the courtyard, to find the chambermaids, the cook, the footman, and little Will all calling up to Elizabeth that she must come down. Embarrassed and in tears, Elizabeth had clung to her branch and refused to budge an inch.

She refused for long enough, and worked her poor periwigged father into such a state, that the Captain himself took it upon himself to climb the tree after Elizabeth. She'd been too embarrassed to look at him, when he took a seat on a branch nearby to her. She could still remember the timbre of his smoky voice, a voice that could bark orders aboard a ship as easily as offer comfort to a scared little girl. Quite a view up here, luv, he'd said. Not quite a crow's nest, but as good as you'll get on land.

I can't look, she'd insisted.

That's fine, lass. You don't have to. But you're missing quite a show. And if I do say so myself, more than half the fun in life is taking in the show.

In that moment she'd lifted her eyes to regard him, daring to look that far at least. His black gaze weighed upon her, and where she expected to find scorn or annoyance, there was only a gentle encouragement. She wanted to look around, in that moment, if for anything just to please him. But her body was frozen to the spot, and she could not move.

Do you think you could grab around my neck, so that I can get us down from this tree? It's blasted hot to be monkeying around in mango trees this time of day.

I can't move, she'd insisted.

Ah. Are you sure?

Yes. She'd been resolutely, embarrassingly, undoubtingly, sure.

You might be wrong, you know. You might be surprised what you can do.

She'd blubbered a little then, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Will said I couldn't climb this high because I'm just a girl, and he was right. I can't do it.

Jack frowned, throwing an unkind look down at the boy in the courtyard, who watched them with fearfully wide dark eyes.

You know, luv, people will tell you plenty of things about your life, and how you should live it. Especially because you are a girl. 'Fraid that's your lot, state of things as they are. But the only rules that really matter are these: what a man-or woman-can do and what they can't do. That part is entirely up to you.

It was advice that Elizabeth would carry with her into womanhood, to her father's chagrin. She would never forget that afternoon spent in a tree with the famous privateer captain, a man who would not dismiss her just because she was a female, as so many throughout her life would.

Elizabeth lifted her chin, separating herself a bit from the trunk of the tree. She'd wanted to make Captain Sparrow proud of her so very badly just then. So badly that she dared risk a glance down at the ground, the ground that was so far away it seemed to sway.

And then she'd looked out, over the house, over the town, the tops of the swaying palms, and to the sea. The sea had sparkled that day as a glittering blanket encrusted with topaz, sapphires, and diamonds, a sight that to this day never failed to take her breath away. In that moment, she'd known Captain Sparrow was right. It was a show that would have been a shame to miss. It encouraged her to trust him in other matters as well.

Will you climb down beside me? She'd asked in a voice so small it was a wonder Captain Sparrow even heard her.

That I will, luv.

And slowly, side by side, she and Jack had made their way down the mango tree. She traversed the worst of the journey by herself, her limbs trembling so badly. It wasn't until perhaps fifteen feet above the ground that her grip gave way, and she nearly took a fall. But Captain Sparrow caught her with a strong arm around her waist, and she marveled at how easily he held her little body aloft. Maybe hang on to me for the rest of the way down? He'd suggested, and she nodded, obediently placing arms around his neck with a death grip that surely must have half choked him.

Jack swung down from a branch with one hand, dropping down to terra firma with her in his arms, and they shared the briefest moment of eye contact, the privateer's well-formed lips breaking into a brilliant smile. Well done, luv. Y've got mettle, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. She'd smiled shyly, before being swept away by the tearful nursemaid and passed around the other servants who loved her as their own daughter, even eventually to Weatherby's own relieved embrace.

Captain Sparrow had left the Governor's mansion with a grateful pat on the back, and surely more to his liking, letters of marque that sanctioned whatever trouble he could stir up for England's enemies in the great blue beyond of the Caribbean.

Then, Elizabeth had received a tongue lashing to end all tongue lashings. She'd been sent to her room with an ego-and a bottom-so sore she couldn't imagine ever looking her father in the eye again. She'd been forbidden from seeing that boy anymore. Will, her beloved friend, the boy who had been her constant companion since coming to the island a few years before. Elizabeth had been told that it was time to start acting like a lady. She would be thirteen soon, and she was long past due to stop playing with sticks in the garden and pretending to explore faraway lands.

Young, impetuous, Elizabeth's answer to this decree had been to change into a boy's costume leant to her by Will for previous adventures, and slip out the house with a pillowcase full of her most treasured things. Her diary. A book about pirates. A string of pearls that had belonged to her mother. A little snack she'd squirrelled away at supper.

She'd headed straight to the docks, intent to find a ship to runaway upon.

Fancy her luck, that she ran into Captain Jack Sparrow once more.

Perhaps she'd sought his beautiful ship on purpose, the famed Black Pearl whose graceful profile anyone in Port Royal could recognize in the harbor. Even with just a silhouette in the moonlight, the sight of her had taken Elizabeth's breath away. The promise of adventure inherent in her lines and curves. Oh, the places they could go…

Her reverie had been interrupted by a hand clapped upon her shoulder, startling her greatly. Beautiful sight, eh dearie?

She'd swallowed hard, knowing she was made immediately, despite her short pants and shirt.

Captain Sparrow had listened with a sympathetic ear to Elizabeth's tale of the tongue lashing, smiling a little wistfully. And then he'd promptly escorted her home, even giving her a hand up to help her scale the trellis back up to her balcony, without waking the house. He'd parted her company with a rogue smile and a salute, as she watched from her perch on high. Jack disappeared from her vision into the shadows of the garden as though he were a creature made of darkness, as though he'd never been real at all.

She thought back on that turn of events with equal relief and regret. Sometimes she couldn't help but wonder, what if?

This was one of those moments. Being jostled in the carriage was far from her favorite activity, and doing so in a corset in this hellish heat was doubly tiresome. The added ingredient of attending an official function, James Norrington's promotion ceremony from Captain to Commodore, did not help matters either.

What could life be like, had she sought her fortune upon the sea, rather than remained the pampered pet that was the Governor's daughter?

James had been acting rather odd around her lately, and it filled her with a sense of foreboding. She did not think his impending promotion to be the culprit. Before she'd found him a rather gallant figure, equal parts gentleman and adventurer. She'd even let him kiss her once at a garden party at Lady Sheldon's. Yet the last time she shared his company, at dinner Friday last, James had acted almost shy, refusing to meet her eyes, stumbling over his words.

The only thing she'd been able to make out had been a fine woman. Whatever that truly meant.

No, this did not bode well at all.

Author's Note: I'm sure you'll pick this up, my esteemed readers, but this is set loosely during CotBP.