New fanfic: "Over the Anvil" - PG

[veronica_rich]

OVER THE ANVIL

POTC characters: Will, Bill, Estrella; and an OC or two

Rating: PG for vague ideas of W/E and J/W

Disclaimer: Characters property of Buena Vista and Bruckheimer, additions all my own.

Summary: One of a captain's - and blacksmith's - happier duties.

A/N: This is a one-shot (meaning, you don't have to read all this other stuff) taking place somewhere in the series last told with Supernatural; also contains A Heart Divided, which was sequel to A Tangled Web. Could also be read as part of what I would *loosely* call a "series" of fics starting with A Debt to be Paid and With Interest. ( The Pirate Boy is also in this timeline, taking place about a year after this.) If you're curious about the dog and cat, they were introduced in Small Comforts.

A/N2: Thanks to betas metalkatt, gryphons_lair, a_silver_rose, and yoiebear - all mistakes are my own.

Feedback: It’s what every writer wants, besides a big advance.

Collecting so many souls, he didn’t always have opportunity to register every face he saw and murmured a few words to immediately upon retrieval. Most were too distraught or shocked to comprehend him in return; it was this mutual ignorance that kept his job mostly smooth - for what it was.

He was quite unprepared for the lady who cried out to him across the deck the morning after cleaning up the aftermath of a storm-tossed merchant vessel. He paused, turning to answer and trying to place the familiar voice from a lifetime ago, but needn’t have bothered as she presumptively reached out and brushed fingers over his sleeve.

“Mr. Turner!” Ah, at least he remembered the striped parasol she’d been unwilling to let go when he brought her aboard, stiff and shocked; her eyes had been averted, looking around his deck crowded with fellow corpses, unable to see what they were. “Sir, is it really you, now?”

He blinked, studying her. This woman was a few years older, tiny lines around her eyes and mouth, and her cap was gone - but she looked just like-

“Miss Sutton?”

Her mouth rounded in an O and her eyes lighted up. “Oh, it is you, Mr. Turner! I told Max here my eyes must be playing tricks upon me, to think you’d be all the way out here.” She looked to her side, frowning, then did a half-turn until she spotted the man she’d been referencing. “Max! Do come here! It is him, was going to marry Miss Swann!”

The short fellow finished exchanging a few words with the crewman he’d been chatting up, and strode toward them. “Stellie, what’re you on about now?” he nagged at her, good-naturedly.

She caught his hand and used her other to gesture at Will. “It’s Mr. Turner - you remember, the town blacksmith, was going to marry the Governor’s daughter? I told you about it?”

“Ah, yes.” Max nodded and offered his hand. “Just so, then, sir.”

Will shook it, some small part of him satisfied to finally be acknowledged as the craftsman behind much of Port Royal’s metalworks; it mattered rather ridiculously more than it ought. “Actually, it’s Captain Turner these days. But I’d be just as satisfied if you called me Will.”

“Well, as you’ve no doubt already gleaned from the lass, mine’s Max. Max Riverton.” He seemed to be sizing up the man before him, Will noted, before turning his companion. “So this is Will Turner, then.”

It seemed a private comment, for the woman colored rapidly, a flush high in her cheeks. “I’ll thank you to mind your commentary,” she replied, a bit rapidly. “’S not polite to make a body think you’re talking about them when they’re standing right before you.”

Dryly, Will informed her, “We are all of us dead, here. I believe one advantage is that the time for niceties has passed.”

“Right, then.” Max nodded, charging ahead. “Seems Stellie here carried a bit of a torch-”

“MAXIMILLIAN!” she fairly bellowed at the befuddled Scot.

“But Stellie, it’s not an issue now, is …” He trailed off as she suddenly went very pale, and moved closer, a hand going around her back. “Stellie? Estrella, what’s wrong? I-I’m sorry! Truly … I never intended to upset you so.” She was shaking her head, eyes darting around them now.

Will knew the real problem. “We are dead,” he explained gently, catching her confused gaze. “You, Max, me - everyone you see here has died at sea. That’s why you’re here; it’s my job, as captain of the Flying Dutchman, to gather the-”

“The Flying Dutchman?” Her voice was high in its alarm, and even Max regarded him now with fear.

Will held himself steady despite the need to scream and rail that no, for the ten-thousandth time, he was not bloody Davy Jones and would not be carting all and sundry off to the Locker to rot for an age. Once, he might’ve wondered how they passed the night without knowing where they were or why they had been drowning one minute and strolling upon a ship the next, except he’d long since figured out the immediate dead were not often subject to the same powers of realization as almost anyone else. “Davy Jones is no longer a part of this ship,” he stated simply. “And neither are his terrors and punishments. You are safe; you’ve passed through the worst that can happen. You’ll not be made to suffer further.” He looked into Estrella’s eyes, knowing at least she had to accept his terms. “Upon my word.”

Her fingers still curled into Max’s arm, but she nodded, and her breathing started to slow again. Releasing him at last, reassuring him with nods she was recovered, she smoothed down the front of her flowered dress. “It’s just that - all that seawater I swallowed. I thought I had- That you saved-” She caught her breath. “I’ll never see Mum, after all …” He could feel acceptance, slow in coming, wrapped in anger she was still too polite to acknowledge. “But if you say it’s so, Mr.- Captain, Turner, I know ‘tis.”

“Will,” he corrected her.

She blushed again, less violently, and glanced away. “That was how I used to needle Miss Swann - get her goat, so to speak, referring to your Christian name.” Her words were light, but her tone not.

Still, he smothered a grin, well remembering Elizabeth’s accounts of how she and Estrella had gone on about men to pass the time while dressing or fixing hair; besides, there was a certain impression he felt from all creatures’ thoughts, and Elizabeth’s former maid was no exception, even now with an obvious suitor beside her. It occurred to Will that he once blushed about such things. Aging, it seemed, happened even to the immortal. “What were you doing at sea?” he asked, instead. “Elizabeth used to say you disliked the shore.”

“Oh … there’s really no way to go home without it, I suppose.” Now she was smiling a little - it was still tight and worried, but her fear was diminishing, especially when she looked to Max. “We were on our way back to marry, with our families being in Scotland and all. We wanted to do it properly and such.”

Proper weddings are overrated, Will thought, but wisely kept his own counsel. “So you’re affianced,” he said, nodding. “I’m sure Elizabeth would be quite pleased to hear that.”

Her brows drew together, and her tentative smile vanished. “Is she still alive, then? I mean, I hadn’t dared to hope … the news was that you two were killed by pirates, and why, when I saw you, I thought perhaps I was in a dream or such …”

He shook his head. “She’s alive as can be; last word I had, she was in Shipwreck Cove, still.”

“With the pirates?” Estrella blinked.

This time, he didn’t bother to suppress his mirth. “Seeing as they elected her their king, it’s not so unusual as one might suppose.” He waited a beat for her to absorb that, then added, “And … well, it is Elizabeth, after all.”

Estrella was shaking her head. “Pirates? King?” She looked to Max, who was obviously without a clue but smart enough to say nothing about things he knew not. “I always told her reading all those books was going to give her ideas …”

“Well, I hope so, for her sake and Liam’s.” When Estrella cocked her head in askance, Will added, “Our son. Just hoping she can keep their noses above water, is all.” Literally.

“So you did marry!” She seemed jubilant, then hesitated. “You did marry?”

“More or less.” He briefly explained about Barbossa and the battle, and the couple’s eyes widened.

“A real pirate wedding,” Estrella mused, suddenly laughing. “Oh, the Governor’ll be fit to tie when he catches wind of this - unless he already has?”

Will shook his head, privately having wondered the same thing far too often. “I expect not. He passed over before I became captain several years ago, of his own volition. He was at peace,” he hastened to add, misinterpreting Estrella’s expression.

“He’s gone?” She put a hand to her mouth.

“We were all told he’d gone back to England for an earlship or some such, and simply wouldn’t be returning to Port Royal,” Max explained, patting her back.

Willl did what he did best - offered empathy. “I am sorry to bear this news, then. But it’s likely you’ll meet him again once you’ve crossed over.” He hesitated. “That is - I presume you’ll not want to stay aboard and serve as crew of the Dutchman.”

Both shook their heads. “But - what’s to cross over?” Max wondered, and Will caught the cautious half-joking tone. “Fiddler’s Green?”

“Why, it’s the Elysian fields, isn’t it?” Estrella ventured, more seriously. They were looking expectantly at Will.

He spread his hands. “Truth be told - I do not know.” They looked almost offended. “I’m the ferryman,” he explained. “I can’t cross over myself; I can’t even leave the sea, except for one day in ten years to step foot on land.” To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he could step foot on the distant shores, and hadn’t tried, out of fear if he did so he wouldn’t see Elizabeth, young William, or Jack again. “That’s between you and your god,” he finally said, confident this, at least, was correct.

*****

Will largely measured time by the tides these days, so he wasn’t sure just how long it took to reach the end of the world or its other side, wending his way across and under the vast oceans. It was a largely quiet trip, the most excitement in the form of Straw and Mush apparently having some sort of falling-out and the cat claiming the captain’s bed, hissing anytime Mush approached with the intention to jump up beside him. Will had finally sent the mutt to sleep in Bill’s cabin, dryly proclaiming “extra dogwatch” as part of the First Mate’s duties. Bill had silently arched an eyebrow, indicating what he thought of his son’s punnery, but had taken Mush anyway.

The Dutchman was cutting the still water slowly, the land of perpetual sunlight perhaps a couple of hours distant. It was always the same; all souls, even those who had chosen to stay below and mope or self-pity for the duration of their last earthly voyage, would trickle up on deck to watch the horizon and imagine what lay beyond. Will touched the helm, barely needing to steady it as the ship found his own way along the path he’d traveled countless times. He took more comfort from this simple act than he’d once thought possible - the entire job, in fact was less onerous than the living might imagine. Or perhaps that was just his ruthless practicality at work.

He noticed Estrella and Max standing near the rail. He was gesturing at the shore, talking to his intended - not so intentional anymore, since there’s no life left to plan - and she was sobbing. She’d given off a vague sense of sorrow and worry the whole way, but so did most other souls; he hadn’t taken much notice, beyond offering her a private cabin out of respect for her former service in Swann’s home and as a friend.

Leaving the helm, he descended to the lower deck and moved toward the couple. When he was a few feet away, they noticed him, and both immediately straightened, Estrella hurriedly wiping at the corners of her eyes. Will said nothing, having learned people would talk when they decided it favored them.

“I waited so long to get married,” she finally explained, to break the silence. “And my mum waited … and now not only won’t she get to see me tie a knot, I won’t get to do it, either.” Max offered her a large square cloth from his waistcoat, and she nodded gratefully, blowing her nose. “But it’s not that I’m not grateful to be here instead of down there, Cap- I mean, Will,” she corrected herself, nodding to the water beneath the ship.

He opened his mouth to offer a platitude, then shut it. It wasn’t often he enforced the usage of his title or, for that matter, remembered it. He glanced down, considering the toes of his own boots for a moment, then looked back up. “No,” he finally said. “It’s Captain.” They looked at one another, then him, confused, but before they could speak, he turned and called across the deck. “Mr. Turner!”

It took Bill a moment to extricate himself from what he was doing. “Sir?” he asked, approaching.

“Get a couple of the men to bring my anvil out here.” He thought. “And my coat.”

Bill looked like he wanted to ask, but only scratched his chin, regarding Will for a long moment before turning, making eye contact with Maccus and Shorty, and barking out the order. While they traipsed off, he turned back to his son. “Feeling th’ sudden urge to create by sunlight?” he asked, quirking his lips before he followed the two men into Will’s cabin.

Will looked around, gauging the best spot. When the crewmen finally brought forth his anvil a few minutes later, he still hadn’t found anything suitable to set it upon. A crate would be too light to bear its weight, and nothing else presented an elevated platform. “Here,” he finally said, gesturing to the center of the deck. “Just … set it on the boards, right here.”

Despite immortal strength, Maccus and Shorty grunted as they moved it, and seemed pleased to back away, out of breath and red-faced. Bill approached with his son’s coat, shaking out the folds and holding it up. Will let him help in getting it on, reaching up inside the sleeves to tug the cuffs of his shirt out as he spoke. “Miss Sutton, Mr. Riverton … would you approach the anvil, please?” Looking up and around the deck at the souls gathered, he finished shrugging into his greatcoat and raised his voice. “Could I get everyone’s attention?”

All murmurs stopped as heads swiveled to attend. One thing about this job, you rarely have to ask anything twice. “Here, move in closer.”

“Captain - what is going on?” Max asked this time.

He looked steadily at Estrella. “I can’t give you back life - not in the manner you died.” He didn’t elaborate on the state of her expired body by now. “I can’t carry a message to your families. This - this, I can do for you.”

Will slowly knelt, silently bidding them to do the same, with pointed glances. As they did, he caught a suppressed bit of a grin in Estrella’s expression. He shook his head slightly at her; Max still hadn’t quite caught on, but was doing his usual job of trusting himself to his fiancée’s judgment. There’s something I know a little about, Will mused. Often wise, sometimes worrisome … not always without trepidation. But, there are men who expect the reverse, by their birth, and nobody thinks wives who obey are out of line.

Placing his hands palms-up on the cool iron, he instructed them to each lift the hand between them and place it in his own. When they had, Will crossed man’s over woman’s and cupped his around the joined pair. “As a blacksmith in the earthly realm, I had the legal right to join a couple in matrimony,” he told the assemblage - his own crew, the souls in transit, who by now found this much more fascinating than their destination. “As captain of this vessel, I also have the privilege of performing the rite of marriage.”

By now, Max and Estrella were smiling broadly at one another; neither seemed to worry if this was legal or religious or ethical, and Will realized his previous worry about the former maid’s need for ceremony was as groundless as it had been for Elizabeth. He found, however, he wasn’t sure what to say next.

“I’m not sure how to proceed,” he admitted, looking up and around. The assemblage waited a couple of beats, then murmured a low collective laugh. “My own ceremony was quite … unorthodox.” He shrugged at Estrella. “I’m not sure if the lady would be quite as enthused with ringing swords as her orchestra and a slippery deck for her dance floor, as my bride was.”

To his surprise, Estrella burst out laughing at that, her shoulders bobbing as she ducked her head. “That’s Miss Swann, alright - do forgive, I mean Mrs. Turner.”

“Actually, I believe it’s still Cap-”

“Captain Turner.” Bill cut in, mid-response, clearing his throat. “I may be of some - ah, limited help. Been a fair number of years since my own vows, but I seem to remember a few lines.” When Will nodded, he bowed his head and closed his eyes, as if trying to call up a memory.

“I remember somethin’ about procreation of children and bein’ a remedy against sin, in there somewhere,” he finally said, opening his eyes and glancing at the couple. “But - beggin’ your pardons - I hardly think either much applies in this instance.”

“Assuredly not,” Will agreed, amused.

“Hmm.” He thought, then quoted, eyes shut again to concentrate. “It was ordained, for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and in adversity.” He took a breath, obviously on a roll. “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God's Word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful.” He opened his eyes and looked down at his son.

For his part, Will was mightily surprised. “You remembered all that from almost thirty years ago?”

Bill shifted from one foot to the other, clearly abashed. “I may’ve done a poor job of takin’ my part of the vows seriously, but I always recalled the words - chiefly because of how she was lookin’ at me while they were being recited.” When Will blinked, Bill pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Go on, now.”

Will turned back to the couple, trying to ignore the sheen in Estrella’s eyes. He took a deep breath, preparing to repeat it all - then simply said, “What Mr. Turner says, there.” Everybody chuckled, and he felt Max squeeze Estrella’s hand - or maybe it was the other way around. “Well, the rest, I’m fairly sure I can sort through on my own. Do you, Maximilian Riverton, take this woman for your wife, to honor and love, in sickness- Um, I mean, in eternity and … the beyond, whatsoever that shall be?” he ad-libbed.

The Scot nodded, then turned to his intended. “Aye, I will.”

“And do you, Estrella Sutton, take this man-”

“Well, I should say so, after all this!”

Will waited until the laughter had died down before clearing his throat. “Well, that’s that, then. Should I bother pronouncing you husband and wife, you think, or will you be in the midst of your marital duties first?” With that, he released their hands and gestured that Max should bloody well go ahead and kiss his bride before something else happened to make this the second-least-appropriate wedding on either side of the Divide.

He got to his feet, looking away as the couple kissed. “Thank you,” he told Bill.

“I never learned any fine verses or poetry,” Bill explained. “Surely it’s the least I could recall.”

When Max stood and helped up his new wife, Will broke up the general noise and clapping with a sharp whistle around two of his fingers. “Make way for the Rivertons!” he called. Singling out one of his own crewmen, he added, “Rodney, if you’ll be getting your fiddle, I believe we might be able to provide a dance for the bride before we make landfall.”

As captain, Will was less a part of the merriment than moving among it. He did the pleasant duty of a short, formal dance with the bride, then moved off to the helm to watch land edging closer. The crew knew their tasks, and moved among the wedding party with little intrusion as the Dutchman made ready to dock shoreside.

This procession was much merrier than the thousand or so others Will had delivered, and he was nearly sorry to see them go, even suspecting that better awaited them there than here. Max and Estrella lingered until the last, pausing briefly to pet Mush and stroke Straw’s ears, as they sat near their master’s boots - the animals seemed to have made up, or at least called a détente, to assume their regular stations for this delivery.

Max shook his hand. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, voice low. “For giving her the happiness I nearly wasn’t able to.”

Will wasn’t sure how to answer; he merely nodded once, and wished the man luck. Estrella was next; he bowed over her hand, kissed it, and murmured, “See that you go easy on him.”

When she was a few steps past him, she suddenly doubled back and leveraged her hands on his shoulders, reaching up to kiss his cheek. When she pulled away, she was blushing rather more than a married woman ought. “I always was telling Miss Swann that that Will Turner, he was a fine man,” she explained, her lips curving up. “I hope she’ll get the chance to know it better, someday, again.”

She backed up a few steps, hitching her skirts lightly as she prepared to turn and rejoin her husband at the bottom of the plank - and winked at Will.