She had known the risks and had never considered any other course.
But the fever nearly broke her, both his and her own. In the jumbled shadows that were her thoughts she wondered if this had been her destiny all along, to lose all but her life in extraordinary events before losing that in the most ordinary of ways.
If he was lost then there was nothing; family gone, name gone, all fragile hope turned to stony despair. Alone as she had never been, for the few she who might know, might understand were lost, James discarded somewhere at sea, Will adrift on eternity, Jack still stalked by his own destiny and lost to another mythical quest, Barbossa dead at his own hand.
No one left to remember her, or with her now, more importantly perhaps no one left to forget with.
Then the mew became a wail, and the wail a cry and the cry a scream. Fever lost the battle and the boy lived after all. Will's son lived after all.
She smiled and slept, tomorrow was another war but now it was worth the fighting.