Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or any of the characters involved.

Title: The Letter

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean

Rating: K+

Summary: Years after AWE, William Turner III writes a letter to his father.

Author's Note: Spoilers for AWE. SLight mention of character death.



It feels strange calling you that. After all, I've only ever met you once, and that was for a day. Jack Sparrow was more of a father to me than you were. He at least visited me at least once every year. When I was younger, I found see other children with their fathers, and wonder where my own was. Mother had always claimed you were a sailor. It wasn't until I was six when she truly told me of your fate. Needless to say, I was amazed. I was a young boy. Who wouldn't be astounded that his father was the captain of the Flying Dutchman?

When Mother would tell me your stories, I would sit, wide eyed, my imagination painting the pictures of your escapades together. I counted down with Mother the days until your return. I watched the sea, the waves, smelt the salty air. I wanted to be a pirate. I wanted to be you.

And then you returned to us, and my fantasies shattered. You were not the immortal hero I had imagined. You were not the great pirate or swordsman I dreamt of being. You were just a man who had the misfortune of being the immortal captain to the dead. You never spoke of the sea, but of being a blacksmith. You spoke of trivial things, nothing that truly mattered. It was then when I realized the man I had so dreamt about meeting was nothing more than a fleeting image of something that could never be. And when you set out that morning, before the sun rose, I came to a simple conclusion:

My love of you, all that I thought you—no, we— could be, was just a misguided view of hero worship. It dawned on me that I could never love a man I only met once. I knew I could never love the man who made my mother cry every night. I couldn't love you, because I never knew you. And I never would. That is, unless I died at sea. But I was sure, am sure, that would never happen, because that morning, my fantasies of being a pirate like you were erased.

I missed your second return and feel no regrets. No—that is a lie. I do regret not being there for Mother—for not being there to hold her, to comfort her when you left. I was away, in England, studying to become a lawyer. You should probably know that I accomplished that task. It was also in England that I met Helena Cooke.

She was the librarian's daughter. She has dark hair, and eyes as blue as the sea. You would appreciate that, I believe. We married, and she is well on her way with our first child. I long for a son, but I tell you now that I will not carry on our family name. There will not be another William Turner. If we do have a son, she wants to name him after her grandfather, James Thomas. Though, if we are given with a daughter, I will love her. Her name will be Elizabeth, which I made clear to Helena. Mother needs to live on in some way, and there would be no greater honor than for my own child to be named after her.

You should probably be aware that Mother is dead now. She threw her body into the sea to be with you. How could you not know? She never gave up on you, even though I did years ago. I am writing this so I can finally make peace with myself. She would have wanted me to. I know it hurt her, once she realized that I never truly loved you. I don't think I ever can, but it is best you know. Take care of her, Father. She always loved you.

Your son,

William Turner III