DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any of the characters or dialogue associated with the film. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.
AN: Alright, I'm done with this. I won't write an epilogue after all, I think.
Her sword was slashing, cutting, killing with unending precision, but Elizabeth could only think of one word: married. It was a far cry from china tea cups and a golden gown, but it had been perfect. She had finally married Will Turner, the boy she'd been in love with since the first day he floated by her ship. The boy she'd seen watching her from afar with sad, brown eyes. The boy who'd freed a pirate solely to save her from another. The man who stole her heart and never gave it back. Married. Forgiven for all her sins because his love is larger than that, because he sees above all that had happened.
She turned and caught sight of him fighting aboard the Dutchman. There was no time to lose, for better or worse she would follow him wherever he went. With one last look to Gibbs, she swung across and found her self face-to-face with Davy Jones himself. She knew immediately that she was no match for him, but at least she'd die trying. And dead was exactly how she felt when he'd hit her hard across the face with his prickly claw. When she awoke from her brief bout of unconsciousness, she was faced with the slow and steady approach of Davy Jones himself. That is, until a sword came swiftly through his chest. It gave him pause and changed his focus.
Will! Rescuing her again, without any pomp or circumstance. He was simply there, doing what he could to protect her. They exchanged a look; hers of gratitude and his of concern. The problem really lay with Davy Jones, who was a cruel and heartless individual.
The whole situation occurred in both sickening speed and unbearable slowness. One minute, Will was safe and very much alive, and the next he was struggling for his life with the sword he had fashioned himself sticking out of his chest. Time stood still in that moment and every happy moment she had ever had with Will came flashing forward: the time she slipped on Main Street when she was fifteen and he had caught her immediately; the Merriweather Ball, when she'd watched him practice fencing without his knowledge; the time he'd risen out of the water like a spectre following the explosion of the Interceptor and saved her from an unpleasant possibility; the day he'd rescued Jack from hanging and kissed her at the Fort; the first time he'd proposed to her, bearing bright orange flowers and hopeful eyes. And then it all crashed forward with too much speed.
She was by his side, insisting that he stay with her, that he look at her. She was losing him, she could tell for he was growing colder and paler against her warm, brown hands. And he was all but gone when Jack wrenched her away, screaming and crying. Jack's arms around her weren't enough, not nearly enough and she regretted every hard word she'd ever said to Will, everything she'd ever done against him. The armada was still waiting beyond the maelstrom, and with the Dutchman having been consumed by the sea along with her one true love, Elizabeth welcomed death. Apparently so did Jack as he ordered the ship to head onwards. She watched Jack with nothing more than numb, idle curiosity as to where his madness had taken him now. It was then that she caught sight of the Dutchman rising from the water.
The crew was no longer horrific and its Captain… Her heart leapt and for a moment she thought she was dreaming. For there was no escaping death for those already dead. But, he wasn't dead…or was he? Did it really matter? No, no it did not. The next series of events: the explosion of Beckett's ship, the triumph of the pirates, all paled in comparison to Elizabeth boarding her row boat and meeting Will on the beach. He was real and tangible, and she drag her fingers through his wet hair, she could push her palm against his chest and feel him warm beneath it, she could wrap herself around him and lose herself in his mouth. Lose herself completely with him. Maddening and frantic; overwhelming and perfect. It wasn't how she'd pictured it, on a four-poster bed with crisp, white linen, but rather on the soft, white sand on a forgotten island. It didn't really matter because for one time, and one time only, she could lie in his arms and pretend that everything was perfect. For once, she wasn't alone in the dark.