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"O Lord," the innkeeper whispers into the darkness, feeling all too keenly the cold emptiness of her bed in Barbossa's absence. "Lord, please protect him. I know what he is, and know also that an outlaw may not deserve Your intercession, but I ask it just the same. Please bring my Hector safely back to me, that he may know warmth and love instead of battle and the contentiousness of men. Guide him to my door, that he may know a welcoming smile and let me see his in return. Let the sea not batter him beyond his bearing, nor his crew refuse to do his bidding, and let his ship remain firm beneath his feet as he rides the world's waters. Keep him fed and clothed, and without illness or injury, and give him courage in the face of danger; but should the worst befall him, please… please show Your compassion and let it be quick, so that he doesn't suffer pain." The innkeeper's breath hitches, for even to think it makes her afraid. Then her gumption bucks up and she frowns slightly. "But Lord, listen here: if You see fit to turn Your back and do none of these things, then I warn You: neither Your pearly gates nor all of Your saints and angels will keep me out or silence my voice when I announce how cruel You are; that You couldn't be bothered to listen to a woman begging for the well-being of the man she loves. And once I've done that, I will turn around and march straight down to Hell so that I may be with my Hector, even though it means we must spend eternity together swimming in a pit of flame!

"Are You listening now, Lord? Good! Amen!"

-oOo- FIN -oOo-