the Dalaverse

So this is what I've been working on, off a bunny shared by ceria_taliesin. Or at least the beginning of it - don't look at me like that, I haven't written anything long enough to post in increments in a long, long time. I can promise you it won't take me long to finish the rest - two or maybe three parts.

Spoilers for AWE; this part is free of any pairing except implied Will/Elizabeth. PG.



Keeping Faith (Part I)


Billy Brown goes to sea when he is seven-and-three quarters, after waiting and wishing and begging for a long time. Mother says they sailed when he was very small, but the only thing Billy remembers about this is huge dark sails overhead and the taste of molasses.

They’ve booked passage on a merchant vessel sailing from Barbados to the Carolinas. Mother complains under her breath about the tiny, cramped cabin they share with a family of five, but everything about the ship fascinates Billy. He wanders about the decks from early morning until he falls asleep at night, underfoot so often that the sailors cease to notice him except when he asks a question. Sometimes they let him carry powder or send messages to the captain, who ruffles Billy’s hair and gives him a few pennies.

At first he plays with the Millers’ children – Rachel is just a baby, but Tom and Sarah are his own age. They're good companions until the day Sarah asks him about his father, then laughs when he tells her that Father has been at sea since before he was born.

“How d’you know you have a da if you never seen him?” she says cruelly, tossing her pale hair. “Betcher ma don’t even know who he is.”

Billy’s fists clench. She’s bigger than him, but he doesn’t care. “She does too! His name is Will Brown!”

Now Tom joins in with his sister, hopping from foot to foot ahead of them and singing the words out like they’re a merry tune: “No papa, no papa, Billy’s got no paaa-pa!”

“I have so!” He reaches out to shove Tom, who stumbles into Sarah. The younger boy scowls at him.

Sarah’s mouth gets hard as she clutches her brother’s arm. “Where’s her ring? If she’s really married, she’d have a ring.”

“She has my father’s things, she has –” Billy stop himself, the secret so ingrained in him that he holds his tongue in the face of their taunts. He mustn’t ever tell anyone about the chest that belonged to Father, which is clockwork-made to sound like a beating heart, nor the sword and pistol that’s bundled up in Mother's things. Whenever Billy asks her why she has them or what they’re for, she just says that people would try to take them and she’s keeping them safe for Father.

“If she don’t have a ring, an’ you don’t have a da,” says Sarah, very slowly and deliberately with a glint of triumph in her eye, “that makes you a bastard.”

Billy doesn’t know what this word means and he’s not sure Sarah really does either, but they both recognize by instinct and by listening to grown-up gossip that it’s about the worst thing you can call a person. He throws himself at the girl and knocks her to the deck, ignoring her shrieks and trying to avoid her sharp nails.

A couple of sailors pull them apart before they can do much damage, though Sarah holds her bruising cheek as she whimpers and Billy wipes away a few drops of blood from a long scratch down his face. The two mothers come swooping in when they’re fetched.

“My poor girl – oh, my dear!” Mrs. Miller exclaims, enveloping her offspring in her doughy arms. Sarah immediately starts sobbing at full volume while Tom cowers behind them both. Billy rolls his eyes as his mother hugs him tightly, briefly – then pulls away to deliver him a solid swat on the backside

“William Brown, for –” Billy winces, but his scolding is interrupted by the other woman’s shrill voice.

“You ought to keep your little brat under lock and key, Mrs. Brown,” she says, holding Sarah’s head to her bosom. Sarah sticks her tongue out at Billy, and Mother catches that like she always catches Billy when he’s misbehaved. Her hand comes down on Billy’s shoulder and he is glad to have her standing behind him.

“Look to the conduct of your own children, Mistress Miller.” Her voice is cold, her chin lifted high. “I hope they come upon some manners by chance, for they’ll surely never learn by example.”

Mrs. Miller’s nostrils flare, but Mother turns on her heel and marches Billy off before she can say anything. They go to the surgeon, who hands over some gauze and a jar of salve and leaves them perched on a hammock.

Mother’s hands are shaking as she dabs the cloth in the jar and wipes the blood from Billy’s face. Her face is still fearsome and stormy.

“Here, now,” she says gently when he jerks at the sting. “We don’t want this to scar.” Billy submits to the indignity, but closes his eyes. “You should not have fought with Sarah Miller.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Mama.” He stopped calling her ‘Mama’ a few weeks ago, thinking a boy old enough to sail is too old to talk like a baby, but she gets soft when he uses it now. Emboldened, he adds, “But she shouldn’t call me names, either, nor say I haven’t got a father.”



Elizabeth looks down at the jar in her lap so he can’t see her face. So that was why he struck the little chit. Her anger is tempered only by sadness over having to explain something she hoped Billy might not have to worry over for a long time, perhaps until his father made port again. They've made their lives in one port town after another, where sailors’ wives, second wives, mistresses and widows are so common that few of his companions could describe what their own fathers look like. He's never had to hear nasty children call him a bastard or his mother a liar and worse

Damn you, Will Turner, she thinks – an unspoken mantra which has taken the same tone as I miss you over the years.

“Billy,” she says, choosing her words carefully, “there are always going to be those who think less of us for being on our own. And there will always be people who want to sniff out lies and shame where there is none to be found.” Billy is looking steadily at her with his large brown eyes, resembling his father more than ever. And far too solemn for his age – she forces a grin and tugs his earlobe. “And we can’t go about blackening all their eyes, can we?”

“No, Mother,” he says obediently, but he won’t smile back. Elizabeth busies herself putting the salve away, recognizing the signs of Billy working something out. She fiddles at the surgery cabinet for a moment, imagining about how she’d deal with that wretched Miller woman if she had the chance. She’s just moved on to a couple of interesting techniques once learned over a bottle of wine years ago when her son breaks his silence.

“Why can’t he come see us?” the boy bursts out.

Elizabeth steels herself. He hasn’t asked this question in a long time, but she suspects it will now take more out of her to answer it.

“He wants to, love, believe me,” she says. Her instinct is to draw him close, but he’s got his arms crossed over his chest and a mulish set to his face. He pulls away from her touch. She bites her lip against the hurt. Will is truly the only one who can put Billy’s mind at ease, but as he isn’t due for some time, she has to make an effort. “But his voyage has taken him very far and he can’t return just yet.”

Now Billy cocks his head, and she wonders if he could possibly have picked that up from Jack in the short time they spent aboard the Pearl. He was only a baby then, but the resemblance is uncanny.

“He can’t, or he won’t?”

Elizabeth takes his hand, ignoring his scowl. “He can’t, William. The task that carries him from us is very important.”

Billy’s fierceness is belied by a quiver in his lower lip. “But you will not tell me what it is. Why, Mother?”

She once asked that question of Calypso. It had been a very dark moment, and it had also been a grievous mistake. She hopes never to have to talk that quickly or desperately again.

“I’ll tell you –”

“Someday,” he finishes for her, voice glum, head lowered.

Elizabeth cups his chin in her palm and raises his face to look at her. “Soon,” she corrects. Sooner than she wanted, sooner than she feared – but he won’t be her baby for much longer, and she wants him to know more about what sort of man his father is before they meet.

Billy bites his lip as though he wants to continue arguing, but the door slams open before he can speak.

“To your cabin, quickly,” says the surgeon. His normally swarthy face has gone gray beneath his poor complexion.

“What’s going on?” Elizabeth demands, her arm going around Billy’s shoulder as she pivots to watch the man take a quick swig from his flask.

He shoots her a look that is dismissive even through his agitation, trying to compose himself. “Never you mind that, madam. The captain’s called for all passengers to get below.”

Billy has picked up on Elizabeth’s rising anxiety, their quarrel forgotten. He curls his fist in her skirt. “Mother?”

“Don’t worry, lad.” The surgeon at least has the grace to offer her son a weak smile. “I’m sure ‘tis nothing.”

He’s lying, and Elizabeth has three guesses as to the nature of the real problem. But she hasn’t time to question him; she has to get Billy to safety.

“Come along,” she orders, a bit of the old habit of command creeping into her voice. Billy is unaccustomed to hearing his mother speak so sharply. He trots out beside her, not so much of a little man that he doesn’t have one hand stuck in her pocket. Fortunately she alters all her pockets so they’re deep, and he can’t reach the hidden dirk. She tries to catch a glimpse of the ship that must be lurking off somewhere in the dusky waters, but the ship's men hustle her onward as soon as they see her. She takes automatic stock of those whose eyes are wide with panic and those appear calm. The equation just as she feared: the former outnumber the latter to a significant degree.

When she reaches the cabin, she finds the ragged sail curtain that separates her bunk from those of the Millers drawn back. Gareth Miller is pacing while his wife complains loudly about being shut up like farm beasts, the baby screaming on her lap. Sarah and Tom are playing with a wooden top on the cabin floor; they look pointedly away from Billy. His face flushes, but Elizabeth has no time for his boyhood battles now, nor for the silly woman’s caterwauling.

“Mrs. Brown, even you must agree that this is absolutely absurd.” Apparently the bulk of Mary Miller’s scorn for Elizabeth has been stoppered by her need for commiseration.

Elizabeth kneels on her bunk, Billy clambering up beside her. “What’s absurd, Mrs. Miller,” she replies absently, “is your making such a fuss when we ought to be able to hear the goings-on of the gundeck on the other side of this bulkhead.”

“Well, I never –” the other woman huffs.

“Gundeck?” her husband breaks in, alarmed.

She runs her fingertips over the grain in the wood, waiting for the commotion of the last returning passengers to die down. “Yes. I believe we may be under attack.”

“Under attack? Really, Mrs. Brown! We’re not in some story to be set upon by –”

“Shut up,” Elizabeth snaps, hearing an order called out on the other side of the boards. So thin, so fragile, they’ll be no protection if a shot should go wide…

Her heart jumps into her throat when she hears the low rumble of the cannons being run out. That sound has always flooded her veins with the hot thrill of excitement and a shiver of fear, but now the fear chills her blood. She finds a knot that has rotted away and fixes one eye to the tiny hole, groping for Billy at her side. He puts his head on her thigh.

The ship is armed, but if they face any of the pirates she knows in these waters, it will not prove enough.

Even the baby falls silent beneath the noises of imminent battle. Mr. Miller quits his pacing to sit on the bunk beside his wife, but his heel taps a quick, nervous tattoo on the floor. Mrs. Miller’s voice is not so harsh when she isn’t bleating like a goat. “If we stay put – if we stay quiet –”

The guns begin to boom and Sarah shrieks. Billy curls himself into a tighter ball, burying his face in her belly. She wonders if he remembers, though he was just a baby. Stroking his hair, she hums softly to him.

It’s been too long; she can’t tell exactly how many guns they have. But she can tell it’s enough.

“Steady, men!” The captain’s voice carries, but it sounds thin. “Cut them down as they board!”

“With the keys to the cage and the devil to pay,” Elizabeth murmurs, carefully prying herself out of her son’s grasp and leaning over to get at the storage cabinet beneath the bunk.

She presses her palm flat against the chest for a moment, until its beat is in time with her own. Then she pulls out the long, slender package beside it, laying it across her lap.

Billy watches with confusion as she slowly peels away layers of cloth and paper. Elizabeth smiles at him and nudges him with her toes.

“Yo ho, haul together, hoist the colors high…” His voice blends with hers. She checks the shot in the pistol and the powder in its little horn – still good, by some miracle.

A man screams overhead, high and wretched.

Elizabeth stands and draws her sword. It shines in the lantern light, making little Tom gasp.

“Lass, what the devil d’you think you’re doing?” Mr. Miller’s jaw has gone slack.

For seven years she’s sewn loops into her dresses at both hips, clumsily at first until it seemed they were part of the original pattern. She slides the pistol into the right one and the sheathed sword into the left.

“William,” she says without looking at him, thinking her nerves might be threatened by his round, trusting face. “Go to Mrs. Miller and stay there.”

“But Mama –”

She tightens the knot of her hair at the base of her skull and adds, “Now.”

He goes. To her credit, Mrs. Miller holds out a hand to him, though she is staring at Elizabeth in open horror.

“Are you mad?” the woman squeaks. “You can’t go out there!”

“No, you can’t go out there,” Elizabeth informs her, briskly crossing the few steps to the cabin door. “I can.”

Unable to help herself, she glances over her shoulder at her son. His mouth is a perfect circle and his eyes are big with wonder, and she finds her resolve strengthening rather than faltering at the sight. Elizabeth winks at him.

“Mama won’t be but a moment, darling.”

Then she opens the door.



Billy squirms out of Mrs. Miller’s iron-armed embrace, dodging Mr. Miller’s grab and running after his mother. There’s blood all over the deck and men fighting, men lying prone as they gasp their dying breaths. It’s like the stories Mother never would tell him and he had to hear from other boys, and yet it’s not. It’s scary and loud and so real that he almost runs back to the cabin.

But he’s small and he can creep along without being noticed, so he takes a deep breath. First he thinks of his father, but it’s not his father he’s just seen with weapons sticking out all over him.

There – there is Mother’s hair, fallen loose as she’s always complaining of, shimmering in the early moonlight. She moves like she’s dancing, except she has a sharp blade in one hand and a heavy pistol in the other. When the pirates fall before her, they do not get back up.

A tall man swings over on a rope from the other ship. Billy knows right away that he must be the pirate captain; while the other pirates are dressed in rags, this man wears a fine green coat, high leather boots, a feathered hat and a wig of long gray curls. His powdered face is fierce as he shouts a word Will doesn’t understand. Whatever it is, it makes the other pirates stop what they’re doing. One of them has captured their captain with a knife to the throat, but he freezes like a statue.

Mother pauses too, breathing hard, her bright hair fallen around her bent head. She still holds the sword in front of her, though she lets the pistol clatter to the deck. Billy hides behind a coil of rope, his hands squeezed into fists. The tall captain terrifies him, but if he comes any closer to Mother…

“Une fille?” The captain plants a hand on his hip and laughs. The other pirates quickly join in. They are still chuckling when Mother lifts her head. The captain’s mirth dies abruptly and he makes a noise like he’s just swallowed his tongue.

Mother’s back straightens, and she has never looked so tall or beautiful in Billy’s life.

“Capitaine Chevalle.” Her voice is flat and hard-edged. It makes Billy shuffle his feet even though he hasn’t done anything wrong; however, he doesn’t see how it will work on a fearsome pirate.

The captain offers her a sweeping bow. “Your Majesty,” he says in a low, humble tone.

Billy stares. “Mama?”


Part II