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~Chasing the Sun~

     By Partheon

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Rating: PG-13—for violence

Warnings: Angst, violence

Summary:  Two years after Jack Sparrow sailed out of their lives, Will and Elizabeth are expecting their first child.  Then a mysterious man sails into town and shatters their lives forever.  Will is caught up in a dangerous web of deceit and murder as he fights to regain his birthright.

Disclaimer: I own none of the recognizable characters in this story—they all belong to Disney.

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Notes for this story:

On The Time Period: There is quite a bit of controversy surrounding what year Pirates of the Caribbean is placed in.  In this story, I go by the historical records the Port Royal was founded in 1655 and was destroyed in 1692 by an earthquake.  I placed the setting for Chasing the Sun in 1685-1690, two years after the movie would have taken place.

On The Historical Context: I tried to be as accurate as possible with all references to well-known historical figures and events.  King James II was the king of England until he was ousted by Parliament in favor of William of Orange and Mary II. 

On the Medical Procedure:  In the first few scenes, I make mention to Cesarean Section.  This is an actual procedure that is now very common in a case where a woman is unable to deliver her child.  I have found reports of this procedure being used in the mid-1600s in Europe.  For this story, I assume some doctors would know of it in the Caribbean and be able to perform it.  If I am wrong, please forgive.

On Lieutenant Groves:  To avoid confusion, I thought I would explain this character. He is canon—Groves is the one that comments that Jack Sparrow is the “finest pirate” he’s ever seen while standing by Norrington.  While I am not sure of his actual ranking in the movie, for this story I am assuming he is a lieutenant.  If I’m wrong (which I could be), please just assume that he was promoted in the two years spacing this story for the movie.  I used him as the good guy because I never liked Gillete.

On Characterization: I apologize in advance for any canon characters that seem out of character.  I tried my hardest to stay true to what Disney and the writers (and Johnny Depp) portrayed in the movie.  I humbly bow before Johnny Depp’s Jack Sparrow and hope that I made him at least slightly close to the character.  He is an extremely difficult character to write and I’ve found myself going over his scenes in this story again and again trying to get it right.

On The Story Itself:  This is a long story and somewhat dark.  It is Will and Norrington centric in the first part but Jack comes in later to play a pretty major roll.  There are some elements in this story that may make it seem AU.  But I’ve tried my best to write it in away that makes it plausible in the POTC canon universe.

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Prologue:      (England, 1674)

The fire was raging upwards, its flames bright and sinister against the dark sky of the English countryside.  Twisting clouds of sulfurous smoke obscured the stars and choked the men working to contain it.  Draperies and planked walls were consumed like dried matchstick under the power of the fire. 

The people outside were trying to form a water line to the nearest well, passing buckets person to person, but it was like a rain drop on hell’s inferno—it did nothing.  The home itself was two stories with lots of windows—that were now bursting outwards with the heat of the flames.

Most were not standing back now, hoping the fire would burn itself out.  There was no hope that they would ever be able to put out the flames themselves.  It was useless, they said.  Better to just let nature take its course; there were no buildings near the house that would threaten to catch fire themselves.  The fire would eventually die of natural causes, they would do no more.  Until, that is, a child’s scream ripped through the air.

“Mama!”  the cry was wrought with panic.  “Mama!”

People looked up and stared around in confusion.  “The Turner boy’s still in there!” someone shouted.

Heads bowed.  “We can’t get ‘em out of there.”

Neighbors began to shake their heads and look mournfully at each other.  Someone suggested they call a priest but he was ignored.  A few started towards the house as if to go in, but they were held back by their friends.  “It’s too late.”

“Mama!” the cry came again.  “Please!”

“Someone should go get Brenen,” a well meaning man suggested.  “He would want to know…”

But there was no need.  As soon as the words had been spoken, a giant black horse seemed to appear out of the darkness, coming down the dirt highway from the village.  The rider on top was slender—he looked too small to be on the horse—with light blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.   He was a man anyone would loathe to reckon with.  And at the moment his face looked ferocious.  He sprang off the horse and went running towards the house.

“Is he out? Is he out?” he called as he neared the house.  “William!”

As if in answering, the boy called out again for his mama.

Brenen’s eyes went wide as he skidded to a halt before the flaming door.  “My god, he’s still in there,” he breathed.  He turned slowly to look back at the assembled crowd who all ducked under his gaze.  Fear seemed to line his face making him seen older then his twenty one summers.  “He is…” he choked and wavered as if he would fall for a moment.

A moment later and he was stripping of his cloak and then dunking it in one of the water buckets.  Shaking hands ripped it into three long pieces.  One wrapped around his mouth and the other two went around his hands.  Then he was plunging desperately into the raging furnace that had once been a house.

“No!” Someone shouted and lurched forwards to stop him but it was too late.

“Get the water going!”  And people were working with a renewed haste to put out the fire even though they knew it would do no good at all.  But at least they could try.

Seconds stretched into minutes and many began giving up home that they would see the young man emerging from the house. Someone sent for a doctor just in case, though.  There was another crash as the back part of the house fell in on itself, sending a shower of sparks up into the night air.  A few landed on the bystanders, singing them.

And then out of the smoke, Brenen came staggering on to the grass, holding the limp body of a boy against his chest.  He broke away from the flames and fell to the ground.  The smell of burnt flesh filled the air and the people realized with a shock that Brenen’s leg was on fire.  With a shout of alarm, several buckets were poured onto the burning leg, dousing the flames.

“Where’s the doctor?”

Brenen rolled over, gasping and choking and reaching for the boy he had dropped when he had fallen.  “William…” he murmured, finding the boy’s hair and brushing it away from a still face.  “He’s alive,” he informed the man standing over him.  “Unconscious, I think.  His mother...” he broken into a fit of coughing, “she was crushed under a beam…her neck broken.”  He gasped again before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground.

The fire gave a victorious roar as the house collapsed in on itself.

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