the Dalaverse

Wrote what I alluded to in a previous post: Weatherby on the Dutchman. And okay, maybe I made myself cry a little. I bet a lot of you knew this was coming.



In Nomine Patris


It quickly became clear to Will that a great deal of his time on the Dutchman would be spent gathering the souls left adrift by the previous captain's negligence, at least at first. He had seen some of them on his journey back from the Locker, unable to find their way from one world to the next; he could only imagine just how many they numbered.

“Thousands,” said his father when Will raised the question. He shook his head, a shade of his old mournful expression turning his mouth. “Poor wretches. No man deserves such a fate.”

“We will set things right,” Will said firmly. He could name at least one man who deserved the worst fate devisable, but he knew his duty. And with any justice, that fate waited for Cutler Beckett after Will had carried him over.

Yet Beckett’s was not the first face he recognized. Nor was it James Norrington, with whom Will had promised to speak on Elizabeth’s behalf. Instead he found himself face to face with the one person she would have wanted to see most.

“Governor Swann,” Will called to the boat below. He suppose he could have called him ‘Father,’ but old habits died hard.

Weatherby glanced up, looked as faintly bewildered and agitated as he had looked from the deck of the Pearl. The current slowed when his boat came in line with the Dutchman’s keel “William? Have you died as well?”

“No,” said Will, and then he grimaced. “Well, not precisely. Come aboard, sir, and I will explain things.”

“Can I?” Weatherby asked, frowning at the rope that Will tossed to him.

“Yes. This is the Flying Dutchman. You may come aboard.”

He’d feared the others might protest at one of their own plucked out to board the ship, but they didn’t seem fazed. Even Weatherby Swann only looked around with mild interest at his change in surroundings. Will was becoming accustomed to this detachment, seemingly born out of a knowledge that they didn’t belong here. He suspected it was probably better to let Weatherby continue on his way, following in the ship’s wake, but he would bring Elizabeth a few last words from her father if he could. Even if he had to wait ten years to relay them.

“Governor,” he said, the instinct toward formality impossible to overcome, “I’m the captain of this ship now.”

“Oh, so you stabbed the heart,” said Weatherby with a bit more positive inflection.

“Yes,” said Will, his throat tightening at the memory. “But before I did so, Elizabeth and I were married.” He braced himself for the sting of disapproval, watered through death though it may be.

But Weatherby only smiled, looking more like the man Will had known in life – at least when that man had looked upon his only daughter. “Good. Good.” He grasped Will’s wrist, his touch lighter than it should have been. “She loves you so. Is she happy?”

Will didn’t quite know what to say to this. Weatherby had not exactly been enthusiastic about their impending union back in Port Royal, and he did not seem to realize that seeing Will here meant that Elizabeth was embarking upon married life without her new husband.

“I can’t be with her,” he explained gently. “I will not be able to return for ten years.” The shock had abated quickly – never to see her, never to kiss her, never to hear his name on her lips – but saying it struck him anew. How Davy Jones was able to excise his pain by cutting out his heart, Will didn’t know. The heart was far away, safe in Elizabeth’s care, but the pain of leaving her remained with Will. With the souls in his charge, he didn’t dare hope that he might find some way to see her before then – not yet.

“That’s unfortunate, and I’m sorry for you both,” said Weatherby, patting Will’s hand, “but Elizabeth is alive, and she has your hand, and she will make her way.” Despite his assurance, doubt clouded his eyes. “Don’t you think so?” Will found himself unable to answer. He put his fingertips to the raw edges of the scar.

“Aye, she will,” said Bill, coming up behind them. “I knew the lass too briefly, but that I believe.” He stuck out his hand at Weatherby’s puzzled expression. “Bill Turner. Since we couldn’t be present when your daughter and my son were wed, I’m right glad to have the chance to meet you now, Mr. Swann.”

Weatherby took Bill’s hand slowly, his face clearing. “Well met, Mr. Turner.”

Will’s right hand curled into a loose fist. He had never had much imagination, but if he concentrated – if he closed his eyes most of the way – he could convince himself that the shimmer of the sun was Elizabeth’s golden hair, and that she was here to witness their fathers shaking hands.

“If you should see my wife at the end of your journey, will you give her Will’s love and mine? Her name is Katherine Turner – Kate.” Bill's solemn face eased into a fond smile. Will wondered if he was likewise imagining her at his side. When he felt his debt was paid, Will knew, he would go peacefully on the journey – Mother had sometimes blamed him and sometimes cursed him, but she had always loved him.

“I shall,” Weatherby said with a short nod. “And I will tell her that her son has grown into a fine man, who loves my daughter across the tides of time and death.”

He returned to his small boat with the same dignity Will had admired in childhood, and gave them a wave before drifting back to join the crowd of weary souls. Bill clapped Will on the shoulder before leaving him to his thoughts.

If his wife were standing beside him, he would say, This is not the future they would have chosen for us.

No, she would reply, smiling up at him, and it wasn’t our choice either. But what we make of it – that’s as wide open as the sea, if we are strong enough. And he knows she is.

“For you, Elizabeth,” he whispers, gazing at the sun setting over strange and eerie waters, “I will be strong enough.”