the Dalaverse

Here's more of "Keeping Faith." I should warn you that this part's a bit exposition-heavy, but a flashback scene didn't work at all (later, possibly, but I make no promises). ANYWAY. Fic! I have every confidence that I will be able to post the next part tomorrow.

ETA: All my French is belong to Babelfish, so if you spot anything off please do point it out to be fixed.



Link to Part I
Keeping Faith (Part II)


Captain Arnold is just as incredulous. "Majesty? Why, she's naught but a common sailor's woman what could barely pay her passage!"

Billy hopes the pirate holding him might nick the skin for that, just a little. Mother is standing absolutely still, her spine straight as a rod.

Captain Chevalle sheathes his sword, his mouth curling with contempt. "Common? Merdaillon – do you know who she calls husband? Have you any idea the things this woman has -"

"My husband's name is Brown," Mother interrupts, cool but firm, "and Captain Arnold is quite correct. I am just an ordinary woman trying to care for my son."

Billy is fairly sure she didn't mean that as a cue, but nonetheless he comes running up to her. She raises an eyebrow at his disobedience but puts her arm around him. He tries not to think about the blood spattering her worn pink dress. Better theirs than hers, he supposes.

Chevalle looks at Billy, then back to Mother, and he nods once, his face impassive. "Comme vous le souhaitez . My most sincere apologies for the mistake, Madame Brown."

Fear turns Arnold sour and mean, though he was kind to Billy in the past. "I want the bitch off my ship," he snarls, spittle flecking his beard. "Consorting with pirates -" The man holding him lets go in order to slam the butt of a pistol into his stomach. The captain goes down like a lead weight, wheezing.

"You are welcome aboard La Princesse Ecarlate, should you choose to heed his words," murmurs Chevalle. Mother allows him to kiss her hand, and he grins at Billy while he is bent over. "And your son as well, of course. Or I will dispatch the knave for his rudeness." Billy thinks it rather funny for a pirate to call an honest sailor ‘knave,’ but as that honest sailor has just insulted his mother, he can’t find too much fault with it.

Mother inclines her head gracefully. "Thank you, Capitaine, we would be delighted to accompany you." Billy wonders if this is the part of the tale where the pirate captures the beautiful maiden for a hefty ransom.

"We haven't any money or jewels or anything of value," he says quickly, grabbing Mother's hand.

"Petit monsieur," says Chevalle with a smile, "you have a low opinion of pirates, considering -" He stops himself when Elizabeth clears her throat, amending, "Considering the grace of your lady mother."

Mother's hand tightens around his, telling him it's all right. "May I return to our cabin to gather our things and perhaps find some fresh clothing?"

"Of course," says Chevalle, bowing again - but not so deep, just a courtly bow such as a player once did because he said Mother was pretty enough to deserve it. "Take what time you need while I gather my men."

"I'll be quick," Mother replies, and it sounds almost like a warning though Chevalle doesn't react. She's true to her word, tugging Billy along so fast that he can barely find breath to speak.

"Mother," he whispers, aware of the pirates watching them, "you were lying about not knowing the captain. You know his name and he never said it."

"Aye, that I do," she replies in a low voice.

Billy is surprised that she admitted it so easily. She's forever telling him that lying is very, very wrong. This must be one of the exceptions to the 'nearly always' part. "Are you really a - a princess, or a queen?"

"No, Billy." They've reached the door to the cabin and she kneels so that they are face to face. Her expression is serious except for the smile hiding at the corners of her mouth and in her eyes. She leans in close and whispers, "I'm the Pirate King."

Billy frowns. "Mother," he says with dignity, "that is a poor jest."

She shakes her head, her hands on his shoulders. She doesn’t seem to be mocking him; instead she looks almost relieved. "It's the truth, I swear on my life - I swear on your father's life."

"Who is my father?" Billy wants to know, more eager than he's ever been. What sort of man marries the Pirate King, who is in fact a woman? And why hasn't she ever told him about this? He ought to be hurt and angry, but if she's telling the truth it's the most exciting thing to ever happen to him.

“We’ll talk of all these things aboard the Princesse, I promise. But who I am – who we are – it could be very dangerous if the wrong sort of people find out. Will you keep this secret as you’ve kept the chest secret?”

His heart thrilling to be let in on such a grand intrigue, Billy nods with vigor. “Yes, Mother, you can trust me. I won’t tell a living soul.”

“Good,” she says with a crooked smile and a sudden touch of sadness. “You’re a good boy.” Kissing him, she murmurs in his ear, “Your father will be proud of you.”

Billy is beaming when he opens the door to find the Millers astonished that they are alive. They chatter at Mother and Sarah runs up to throw her arms around him – he allows this, for the son of the Pirate King should do no less. Mother gives them short answers while she rummages in her bag. They haven’t much to their name, but he has never seen the cloth she pulls out: loose trousers made of heavy dark blue silk, with a matching jacket and a short shift

“What’s that, Mrs. Brown?” Sarah wants to know, clearly covetous of the expensive silk.

“Something I haven’t worn in years.” Mother shakes out the wrinkles in the fabric with a sigh. “I hope it still fits. Billy, will you pull the curtain?”

He stands at the edge while she dresses, shaking his head at Mrs. Miller’s questions. She wants to know why Mother went up on deck, what the stains on her dress are from, where on earth she got the beautiful silk and if she really intends to walk about dressed like a man. He’s proud of himself for not answering a one, even when she offers him a biscuit.



Her skin has been so ill-treated by sand, wind, and homespun that the brush of silk is like a lover’s touch. The outer garments are only replacements for what she wore in Singapore and to the end of the world, but the last time she wore this thin bit of fabric was the last time she saw Will. If she closes her eyes, she can feel his hands sliding beneath the smooth silk, caressing her belly, her breasts…

Elizabeth gives herself a mental shake and reaches for the shirt and trousers, gratified to find that they do still fit, though they’re a bit snugger than when she was given them. The cut is still far more freeing than a dress, however, and she takes a moment to swing her arms before calling Billy over. He is shocked at first, but then a wide grin takes over his face. Returning it, she takes his hand. He’s her son, all right, as Jack used to say before he could even talk.

But if she cannot afford to think of Will, she certainly can’t afford to think of Jack.

“Well, Mr. Miller, Mrs. Miller,” she says, heaving her pack over her shoulder, “it seems this is where we part.”

“You’re going with the pirates?” Sarah gapes at Billy, who nods with solemn pride.

“Shush, girl,” says her mother, tugging her back and regarding Elizabeth with poisonous distrust. “Let them be on their way.”

“Yes, let’s,” Elizabeth replies easily, leading Billy up to the waiting boat.

Chevalle’s men show them every courtesy. Some of them seem to remember her from the old days, while the newer ones are curious about this missing lord and king whom they have heard so much about. They’re interested in Billy, too, for of course it’s become legend that the consort to the Pirate King is the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. If she could, she'd bury that legend in the deepest part of the Locker.

Chevalle’s great cabin is as sumptuously decorated as she remembers, draped with rich cloth and art, lit by spicy-scented candles. Billy immediately hones in on the feast laid out on the table. Elizabeth is uncomfortably reminded of her fateful meal with Barbossa nearly a decade ago, but the food is delicious as well as unspoiled by Aztec gold.

Billy amuses the captain and the two spend most of the meal in conversation. Elizabeth is struck by a bit of sadness and guilt to see Billy respond so eagerly to male attention, overcoming the shyness that sometimes plagues him and chattering away as if they are great friends. He is so animated that he forgets to question Chevalle about his past with Elizabeth, which is convenient as she hasn’t yet worked out the salient points of the tale. When she can get a word in, they speak of pleasant, inconsequential things rather than courts and curses.

When his belly is full of roast pork and quince pie, Billy flops over on the bench beside her. He is asleep within minutes, snoring lightly from time to time. Elizabeth pulls his head onto her lap. He always could fall asleep anywhere, on land or at sea.

"So this is Capitaine Turner's child," says Chevalle quietly, gazing at the boy with interest. "The reason you have been in hiding all these years, n'est-ce pas?"

Taking a sip of wine, Elizabeth nods. He has no right to the details, but she sees no harm in sharing the bones of the story. "Yes. I brought him on the Empress a year after his birth, as you might recall."

Chevalle cocks his head as he rolls a cheroot. "I must admit, we all thought you a fool for allowing Hector Barbossa to take temporary charge of such a prize."

A corner of her mouth twitches. "Barbossa and I had...an understanding." Brokered by the threat of calling Calypso down upon him to revoke his borrowed life, a bluff for which she would pay a dear price. But again, nothing to which Chevalle need be privy.

"When I returned," she continues, "he was willing to give up captaincy, if not exactly overjoyed, and it wasn't a week before we took a decent enough brig for him to go haring off after Jack Sparrow again. And then - the Empress was lost." She drains her glass. It's still difficult to talk about this failure, still nigh impossible to suss out the various reasons why it happened: unseasoned men, low stores of powder and shot, her own rusty skills and the changes wrought by the baby wailing in the captain's cabin.

Chevalle bows his head, acknowledging her loss as one sailor to another. "It is fortunate that Sparrow happened to be in your vicinity, then."

"Aye," Elizabeth allows, tamping bitterness back down where it belongs. "His ever-curious sense of timing saved us, if not the ship."

"And you sailed with him for a time." Elizabeth casts him a sharp look. Chevalle speaks as delicately as he taps the cheroot on the table.

"We did," she affirms, letting the implications lie. She was been happy then, most of the time, or as happy as she may be under the circumstances of her life. Even so, she lived with a sense of borrowed time. And one day it ran out.

Picking up on her thoughts, Chevalle holds out the unlit cheroot. "Why did you leave the Pearl, if I may ask?"

"There was an incident," says Elizabeth quietly, declining his offer and looking down at Billy's slack, sleeping face. "A man on my crew was dying – rot in his lungs – and he thought to bargain his way out of it by using the Captain of the Dutchman's son as leverage."

"Ah, so that is the way of it." Chevalle lights his cheroot on a candle, inhaling deeply. The sweet, heavy scent of tobacco drifts her way and she tries not to cough. "That is why you took another name and kept to land."

Elizabeth nods, working her fingers gently through the tangles in Billy's hair. She leaves out how she froze, powerless to do anything against Underwood because the desperate madman held her whimpering son in his arms. It was Jack who saved Billy in the end, as he had saved Will. She has no idea how that became the story of her life or of his. In any case Underwood was already dead from a shot between the eyes when she ran him through, but she did it anyway, again and again, until her sword arm ached and her clothes were soaked with his blood and Jack had to pull her back from the mutilated body.

It was a deep shock to her system and she found herself unable to stop shaking for a long time after. After Jack had led her back to her cabin; after she had sung Billy to sleep with a broken voice; after Jack emerged from the corner where he'd kept watch and rested his hands on her shoulders, ordering her to rest. She only stopped shaking after she turned in his arms and buried all her fear and rage and regret in his mouth. If Will had been there...

But Will was not there, and Jack was, and so she exorcised her demons with betrayal - only to find that they returned with the morning tide. And when she tried to banish them for good, Calypso's wrath had been harsher than she ever could have imagined.

"You know, perhaps," says Chevalle idly, twirling his mustache with one brown-stained finger, "that Jack Sparrow has once again lost his Pearl?"

Touching her cheeks she is glad to find them dry, if overheated. "No, actually, I hadn't heard. We don't speak anymore."

"Ah, well, here is your chance!" Chevalle snaps his fingers. "For the man himself tried to rob La Princesse, and he is currently enjoying the hospitality of my brig."

Elizabeth shoots to her feet. "Jack Sparrow is on this ship?" she demands.

At her raised voice and the sudden loss of his pillow, Billy stirs. Blinking, he sits up and yawns, "Mother, where's the privy?"

"I will have one of my men escort you," says Chevalle, gallant again for the boy's benefit. "Maurice! Accompany Monsieur Brown to the head, please." Billy trots after the tall blond man who comes to fetch him. When Elizabeth raises an eyebrow, Chevalle assures her, "Maurice is my most trusted mate, Capitaine Swann - he will look after young William."

It has been so long since anyone called her by her old title; she is not surprised to feel a small rush of pleasure. Thankfully, the prospect of meeting Jack is enough to dispel it.

"More wine, please, Remy," she says, holding out her glass. "Don't be cheap. And we really ought to talk about going easy on the passengers."



Pretending to fall asleep is the one trick that has never failed Billy, but he’s never gotten such a wealth of important information from it before. He should have stayed to see if they’d reveal anything more, but the name Jack Sparrow – and Mother’s agitation at it – piqued his considerable curiosity. Perhaps this Sparrow might tell him more than Mother and the smiling, lying pirate captain.

The crewman is easy enough to lose. His problem is a disguise – he’s almost big enough to be taken for a cabin boy, but they might not let just anybody down to see a prisoner. Hope appears in the form of an unattended mug, which Billy totes around while he looks for the brig. The thing about sneaking about in broad daylight is to pretend you know exactly where you’re going, so though he takes a few wrong turns before he finally finds an occupied cell, he looks sure enough that no one thinks to question him.

“Cap’n says I’m t’ deliver water fer th’ prisoner,” he says to the lone sleepy-looking guard. He adopts a swaggery stance and hopes the man won’t come close enough to smell the spirits in the mug. “An’ wants you in ‘is quarters immediately.” When the guard blinks at him stupidly, he snaps, “Now, ye soggy cuttlefish!” And amazingly enough, the guard obeys.

Billy tips some of the liquid out on the deck so he can turn it well enough to fit it inside the bars, then steps up to them. “Sir?”

The man inside grunts and flaps a hand at him. He’s older than Billy expected, older than Mother certainly, but he does look just like a pirate in his raggedy clothes, boots, and braided beard. He has a battered leather tricorn tipped over his face, but Billy can still see trinkets winking in his long dark hair. Also, he doesn’t appear inclined to give a mere boy the time of day.

“Mr. Sparrow? I brought you something to drink.”

He sits up straight, sniffing, then grins so wide that Billy can see all his gold teeth. “Rum, is it? Good lad! I’d give you the princeliest of tips, but I seen to have misplaced me purse at the moment.”

Billy hands him the mug through the cell door. Though Jack Sparrow is looking cross-eyed into the rum instead of at him, he holds up a warning finger when Billy opens his mouth to speak. Billy waits patiently until he tips the mug back, rapping its bottom soundly to get the last remaining drops.

“Please, Mr. Sparrow, I want to talk to you.”

“Talk to ol’ Jack, eh?” Sparrow wipes his hand across his mouth and waggles his eyebrows at Billy. “S’ppose I haven’t anything better to do. What’s your name, lad?”

Billy bites his lip. “Well, I was hoping you might help me with that. You see, it’s always been Billy Brown, but today it seems to be either Billy Swann or Billy Turner.” Technically he promised Mother that he would keep the secret, but according to her own words it’s one Jack Sparrow already knows.

Sparrow lowers the mug slowly and leans forward, his dark eyes intent on Billy’s face. He shakes his head as if he’s seeing things. Then he smiles, very slowly.

“So you’re Lizzie’s boy. I knew I’d see you again someday.” He sits back on his heels and spreads his arms. "What d’you want to know, William?”


Part III