moonlight on waves } --

[Elizabeth Turner]

Sure enough, Elizabeth heard the calls and cries that bore evidence to the life that certainly thrived beyond the shadows. She sighed, defeated and uncertain. But then she glanced up, gaze coaxed forth by the subtle noise of effects being removed. She arched a brow as she watched Barbossa remove various weaponry, a tad worried that he had taken her ideas seriously. As he meandered closer to the forest she grew anxious, leaping to her feet and preparing to stop him from roaming closer to the trees. But she paused, perplexed by the lack of harm that had come to him at such close proximity of the forest. Had her thoughts actually led to something, here? A small, beguiled grin curled its way to her lips as he called back to her, hands swiftly sliding the baldric from her body. Her cutlass, pistol, and dagger were removed and placed beside Barbossa's own, abandoned weapons and now she approached the tree line with naught but the Chest in hand.

Carefully and cautiously, she advanced upon the swamp with the Dead Man's Chest held before her and with steady steps guiding her forward. Her muscles were tense, bracing herself for an attack should this plan prove faulty. But the closer she became to the shade, she actually began to dig some faith out of her new pessimism. Eventually, before she even knew it, the Pirate King was but a pace away from entering the shade. Doubt tensed her muscles further and made her spine prickle unpleasantly. But with a deep, testing breath, she hesitantly stepped forward.

Had it hit her? Had it sliced her head clean from her shoulders? Elizabeth blinked, dark eyes wide as she waiting for something to happen. Nothing. Had that really been it? Did the protector of this strange, ominous place now see them as no threat? Apparently, their lack of weapons had, at least, satisfied it for now. A triumphant grin graced her features while she turned to face the Captain, arms hugging the Chest close with the small victory. "It really wasn't so ridiculous then, was it?" She had underestimated her own thought process and now, to find her ramblings to be not as mad as she had thought, Elizabeth decided she was, at least to some degree, perfectly sane. But as she shifted her stare deeper into the marsh, she found her skin to crawl with new doubt and her worry to return as a knot in her stomach. It looked even more wicked and wild at this proximity. They may have crossed one obstacle but she was quite sure that there were more to come. Just peachy.

[Hector Barbossa]

Barbossa grinned at Elizabeth, watching her as she followed his lead. It was a relief to watch her pass unharmed through the line of trees. Simplicity was often the answer most over looked, making situations more complicated than they had to be. He regretted parting with his sword, and more particularly his pistol. It was of a Spanish design, a victory trophy from a battle with a Spaniard pirate many years before. It was beautiful and trusty, and it was a shame to put it aside so casually. It was his hope that they would be able to return for their weapons. He laughed, shaking his head as she spoke, “not so ridiculous at all. Now. To get our bearings.”

The swamp was much cooler than the exposed cliff. The difference was so stark a contrast, it seemed as if they had somehow stepped into an entirely different climate. The air was thick with moisture, each breath laden with the taste and smell of swamp mud. The under brush was thick and scraggly, with no clear paths to discern. Walking would be a careful expedition, each footfall having to be carefully placed. Creeping vines and thorned bushes threatened to catch their legs should they become too complacent. The boughs above them were thick and interlaced, blocking the sky from view. Light punctured the canopy in thin beams, but it was not enough to illuminate the dank, murky area. There were large, angry looking bugs, spiders and snakes hiding under rock, in bogs and behind vines. What other dangers the forest held were yet to be revealed.

Barbossa, heaving a sigh, his body yearning for an extended rest, looked at his companion and indicated with his head that they should continue in a straight line.

“No sense standing around. Might as well explore a bit. The worst we’ll get is lost, but considerin’ our current situation, I’m not thinkin’ that’d be much more of a problem for us,” he grinned at her, apparently knowing something she did not. He liked to keep an enigmatic air about him, justified or not. The kicker was, no one could ever tell if he was serious or not. It kept enemies and allies alike on their toes, sharp and expectant.

[Elizabeth Turner]

The swamp loomed sinister and ugly before Elizabeth's uncertain eyes, a place surely hiding secrets that the young woman wanted nothing to do with. An alluring, mysterious aura also lurked about the vines and the rocks, however; a sensation that pulled just so at her curiousity. As much as she was quite unsure of this untamed land, she couldn't help but feel intrigued by it as though, somewhere in its dense foliage and dank shadows, it held the answer to some of her painful troubles. The humidity was thick and suffocating, but comforting as she stared thoughtfully into the untamed land before her. She felt draped in warm, reassuring arms - ones that culd have belonged to a lover. No. No, this was all some ruse of the forest. She shook her head, suddenly free of whatever trance she had wandered into. Barbossa's voice and observation had reminded her of the reality she had nearly floated away from. She glanced back towards him with a weak smile and a nod, trying to push all previous wonders from her clouded head. There truly was a touch of the supernatural to the bog, and Mrs. Turner was beginning to fear that it might attempt to get the best of her.

The Pirate King thought, instead, of this odd, almost omniscient air that clung to Captain Barbossa's character, as though he was always just one step ahead of her. Wasn't he? Even he wasn't always on track of things. But as he offered her a grin she felt one her brows arch in simple amusement of this observation. Pirates. You were never too sure if they were ahead of you... or way, way behind you with but a grin on their face to mask it all. She attempted not to dwell on this, however, and simply did as she was advised. Onward into the marsh she roamed, feet cautious and careful as they stepped betwixt rocks and dank foliage. She often thought she heard the hiss of a snake or the scittering legs of some nasty insect just along her boots. And still, she held the Dead Man's Chest close against her torso, reassured by the lulling beat of the heart and the heavy presence of it against her chest. Just keep walking forward. That's all she had to do. And yet, she felt that they were slowly becomming more and more lost with each stride.

She paused quite suddenly, eyes wide upon a massive, black pond that had become apparent with their progression towards it. At first, she had thought it a shadow but now, as she gazed upon the murky surface, she recognized it as a body of water. Her halt before it had been somewhat abrupt, and the Chest had been jostled in her arms. It slipped slightly with the sweat of her palms, but she managed to keep a firm grasp upon it. Elizabeth took note of the heavy, thorned brush growing all around the repulsive pool and groaned softly with this discovery. Trekking around the pond would not be pleasant. But who was she to complain so suddenly? Apparently, the Pirate King was not only overwhelmed with thought... but she was eerie with new worries concerning this bizarre and supernatural place. In every moment that her mind wandered, it was nearly consumed by the odd allure of the wilderness. She had to keep her mind on track. She had to. She turned to face the Captain, dark eyes solemn no matter how determined she had been before. "This place... I don't like it... " Her voice was stern and soft, not meek with fear but more strong with a need to keep herself from drowning in thought and worry. "Why do you think it is protected? Something is only protected for a reason. A good reason." Again, she was verbally introducing her thoughts, as though keeping them in her head would put her sanity in danger. So far, her rambling had helped them. But this? This was just the mutters of a heart unbalanced.

[Hector Barbossa]

Exhaustion was a pitiful word. It was weak and limited; completely unbefitting the depth of fatigue that seeped into every fiber and sinew of Barbossa’s body. The longer the walk, their pace easy and careful, the more his limbs felt as if they were weighted with stones, his chest heaving, sweat, despite the muggy cool of the swamp, pouring down his face and chest. His arm had long since stopped paining him, numb and hanging at his side. It worried him, but not too greatly. He was a Pirate Lord, after all. He knew when to get serious about treating a wound. This one, he decided, was not life, or limb, threatening. It was simply another aggravation for his battered body to deal with.

He came to a slow stop when he noticed the black pond appear before their path. He hadn’t expected such a large body of water to inhabit the swamp, and he wondered just how deep they had come, as well as what else the murky bog was hiding from them. A familiar creeping moved under his skin, and he looked around with an intense gaze. The same presence as before, the same thing that had attacked them at the entrance to this god forsaken place, was near them now, surrounding them, enveloping them. His attention was stolen by Elizabeth when she turned to him, the sincerity of her fear stirring something inside him. As hard as she tried to hide it, the more it shone through. She was affected by this place, the good in her; her very core. This was a place of evil. He moved a step closer, raising a hand to place it reassuringly on her shoulder.

Something moved. Above them, behind them, beneath them: the air itself seemed to congeal with wicked intent. Barbossa let his instincts guide him, not watching the movement, but feeling the presence itself. The forest lurched and gurgled, the water before them bubbling chaotically in the ferver of the sudden ambush. It was attacking, but it’s target was not Barbossa. His bear like paw fell on Elizabeth’s shoulder, suddenly understanding the evil intent of this quagmire, and with all his might he shoved her out of the way. A vine, thick and grotesquely thorned, exploded from the boughs above, to where Elizabeth had been standing. Barbossa saw it coming, barely shoving her out of the way in time. It buried into his midsection, breaking through the bottom two ribs on the right side. He let out an animalistic yell as it moved inside him, searching for something it could not find. His cry shook the forest, and the vine withdrew abruptly. The water settled. The air lightened.

He fell to his knees, hand on his side, blood pouring through his fingers as if they were not even there. Growling, raging, bestial in his fury, he fought against the pain. They had to get out of that swamp, as fast as they could. Or at the very least, Elizabeth did. He looked towards her, desperate to warn her of her danger, to tell her how he knew, but no words would come. With a defeated sigh he collapsed forward, unmoving.

[Elizabeth Turner]

Everything had happened in an instant.

Before she knew it, Elizabeth had been shoved aside and sent sprawling against the damp earth. The wind was nearly swept from her lungs and the Dead Man's Chest tumbled about the vegetation. Her eyes were wide and searching as she rose her head, body pulsing with a desparate need to return her lost treasure to her arms. But then, a horrible cry filled the air. It was a cry that chilled her flesh and squeezed her heart, prickling her spine and chilling the very blood in her veins. She could not move as the primal, angry yell made the forest quake. It was such a horrid, hurting sound that it was nearly enough to make the young woman whimper with a new helplessness she could not avoid. But she glanced behind her with wide, doeful eyes to see what it was that had created such a wretched sound. She only saw Captain Barbossa as he fell to his knees. At that moment, Elizabeth Turner knew that she never wanted to hear that sound ever again.

A gasp escaped her as she saw the blood now gushing from a fresh wound, skin crawling and bristling with new panic. The horrid yell of the Captain still rang in her ears and in the thick humidity of the forest even as she crawled urgently to his side. She clenched her teeth and uttered a muffled moan as she gazed upon the damage. Her face was pale and her hands shaking as they placed themselves atop his own hands upon the bleeding wound. Her voice was shaken and weak as it addressed the struck man in his motionless state, her panic rising with his collapse. "Captain! Oh God. Barbossa? What happened? You're bleeding. Oh God." The wild urgency in his eyes had made her heart race impossibly and fear was raw and evident in her own eyes. What just happened? What had been so violent and sudden to have done this to the Captain she knew was no pushover? Whatever it was, there was something in the back of the Pirate King's mind that told her that it hadn't been Barbossa whom it had intended to strike. As she gazed into his eyes she saw something there - a desparate need she couldn't explain. But in that moment, she understood.

He'd been hurt because of her.

He'd saved her. He'd been the warm, strong hand that had pushed her out of harm's way. Realization was a cold, horrible sensation in the knot of her gut, while her face exposed an expression of utmost concern mixed somewhat with disbelief. If there was one thing she had thought she had gotten straight concerning this man, is was that he was concerned with himself alone. That was one of the morals of piracy - a pirate looked out for his own skin in every agenda. It was the only way one could survive the bloody profession. But here he was - the fearsome Captain Barbossa - bleeding because he had taken her blow. First Jack Sparrow had surprised her by helping William to stab the heart of Davy Jones.... and now this of Barbossa? She wasn't sure what to make of it. In fact, she was at such a conflict, she forced herself to think of the problems of that moment, particularly the problem concerning the motionless, bleeding pirate Captain.

Trembling slightly, she ripped some cloth from the small sash at her belt and held it firm against the bleeding, one hand moving to prop his head up as best she could. They needed to get out of this swamp. They needed help. They needed... something. Anything. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to urge him anywhere and she was not just going to leave him lying there. She refused. But here, in the shadows of the bog, she knew they were but sitting ducks for whatever it was that had attacked. What had attacked? Had it really been meant for her? She couldn't stop asking herself questions. Squeezing the cloth close and holding his head, Elizabeth could only speak to him, and in a voice gentle but lost. "Hector Barbossa... what have you done?"

[Hector Barbossa]

Hector Barbossa was not a stranger to injury. He knew what pain was. The electric acid that charged through his midsection, exploding from each and every nerve ending and twisting his reality into a blurred, agonizing whirlpool of searing heat and bitter cold was not pain. It was something else entirely, mystical and unforgiving, a gift from the swamp meant for someone else. The Pirate Lord was almost glad he was the one experiencing this exquisite torture, his body being forced to understand what the swamp had actually intended for his companion. She did not deserve to know what had barely escaped being hers.

Swimming in a chaos of unrecognizable shapes and emotions, Barbossa felt lost. He was not a caring man. His crew that he was as valiant as pirates came: he fought for his own honor, for the honor of his ship, and in defense of his crew. He did not protect people individually, and there was no personal investment in the lives of those that worked under him. He knew their names and their skills, and that was enough for all concerned. Never before had he risked his own safety for another human being. Or if he had before it had been in days long gone; days he thought he could never reclaim. Why should he invest himself in the life of someone else? If they did not have enough sense to survive of their own merit, they did not deserve the precious gift of life itself. He cherished his own gift, bestowed upon him by forces he could not comprehend. Already he had wasted it once. His unyielding promise had been to thrive in this second life, experiencing all, absorbing everything: and not taking it for granted.

Lying on the cold ground, his head cradled by a soft hand, his chest on fire and his consciousness flickering, he realized he had not broken that promise. Pain was as much a part of life as pleasure. He had almost forgotten how deep pain could run, though, this experience was certainly not what he would have liked to have remind him. Forcing his eyes open, he looked into the face of the woman he had protected, and saw in her eyes something he had not imagined another person could feel for him. She was worried, desperately so, and troubled. His blue eyes softened as he stared into the brown of hers, and he smiled confidently at her, a disarming gesture of strength.

Movement came slowly. He let his hands take over for hers, holding the cloth tightly against the injury. She had spoken, and he had heard it. It took him a moment to digest her words, her confusion, before he could respond.

“Got meself in a right mess, I think,” he said with a gruff laugh. He sat up, pain lancing through his body at the foolish move. It was near crippling, but his will power over came it. The reason why he had needed to shove Elizabeth out of the way returned to him, and with it the crushing sense of needing to escape. Glancing down the path they had come, he saw that the swamp had, as he had imagined it was while they were walking, closed behind them. There was only forward, around the pond and towards some unseen goal for them. If they were to be attacked again it was for the swamp to decide, as if had them completely at its mercy. He fixed his sharp, brilliantly shining eyes on her and spoke in a voice no one on his crew had ever dared ignore, “you’re in danger, Elizabeth. I’ll explain when we have time,” he groaned, rising to his feet with extraordinary effort, “we have to keep moving. The will of the swamp: it be guiding us.”

Barbossa was working against his body. Against pain and gravity. There was a reason why he was one of the most feared pirates in all the oceans: he was hard to kill. Steeling himself, bloodied hand clasped over the still-fresh injury, he looked to the path ahead. The trail around the pond would be arduous, without the added complication of a mortal injury. Snarling, Barbossa refused to be defeated by a bog.

“We must keep going.”

[Elizabeth Turner]

Elizabeth felt her heart ease its strong beating as the Captain returned to some state of consciousness. His eyes had opened and were back upon her own, coaxing a relieved smile from her lips and drawing a weak chuckle from her throat as he smiled and laughed. This was hardly a moment of humor, but it was not humor that made her laugh anyway. It was relief. When the man was shot and killed, had she been hurt? When he had been revived, had she uttered the same, nervous laugh? No. Then why did she feel so different now? Because so much had changed. But still, she felt conflicted and confused as she helped him to his feet, as though a part of her was still baffled by his act. She was still baffled by his act. For someone who valued life so strongly, he had risked his own to save hers. Why? Why, Captain Barbossa? She knew not. And now was not a time of interrogation. He was still bleeding too much for Elizabeth's comfort and they were still tangled in the swamp's grasp. They were still very much in the belly of the beast.

"Me? In danger?" she echoed, brows furrowing in uncertainty as he addressed such things. Of course she was in danger, here. He was too... wasn't he? The way with which the Captain had said it seemed to suggest that she, specifically, was vulnerable and victim to the bog's dark intentions. One hand was on his chest while the other held his shoulder, making it quite obvious that she was in no favor to allow him to stumble along on his own. He may have been the Pirate Lord, Barbossa, of the Caspian Sea, but she was still a woman and knew better in certain ways of life. she was forced to leave him for a moment, however, just to retrieve the Dead Man's Chest from where it had tumbled. She returned to him with it tucked under one arm, not letting the constant sense of helplnessness get the better of her. Her dark eyes were still fixed upon his own of pale blue before reluctantly shifting to the thick brush they were to conquer up ahead. "It'll be rough and I'll help you through. This godforsaken swamp can't go on forever." Her voice was stern and direct despite its tones of uncertainty. She felt a new determination forming inside of her not just to get out of the marsh, but to help her companion as best she could. He had already done so much for her in these twisting, turning events. Now, it was her turn to step up.

With careful steps to the ground and a careful hand on the pirate, the Pirate King proceeded to resume their trek through the swampland. She was only able to grasp his shoulder with one hand, as the other had to keep the Chest from slipping into the shadows. She doubted that the Captain would find her closeness and her help very amusing, but the young woman wasn't going to even consider letting him go. The humidty encouraged sweat along her brow and forehead while the thickness of the air was hard on her troubled heart and already-disoriented breathing. Surely, this place did not stretch on for the entire length of the island? The woman could only hope that fortunes were on their side. She was rather interested to notice, however, that the moisture of the marsh was becomming less and less the further they struggled, while the damp, soft features of the ground were becomming stronger and more firm beneath her boots. She paused, to secure her grip on the Chest and also to get a good glimpse of their changing surroundings. "We're still in the swamp, that much is certain," she observed quietly, "but we might actually be making progress." She fixed her eyes upon him quite suddenly, dark and earnest upon his face. "You need to lie down. You can't keep up like this." Concerned in voice and air, Elizabeth Turner made no attempts to hide her care concerning the Captain. This was no time for masks, despite the emotional barriers that were ill at ease and certainty with the Captain. She knew him and yet, she did not. What else was new?

[Hector Barbossa]

Elizabeth was right. He needed to lie down and rest. His body screamed for it, his muscles begging him to give them a break they had more than earned. Yet he remained rigidly upright, unyielding to the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. His body would have to force him into the black abyss, as there was no way he would willing give himself to unconsciousness. The idea that he would not return from it was alive in his mind. And as long as that fear, as much as he hated to admit that it was indeed fear, lingered inside him he knew that he was not yet prepared for that eternal darkness. Not again. Not yet.

The physical support her hand on his shoulder offered him was what he would expect from a woman of her size, with her well muscled, yet feminine frame. Still, he was thankful for it. After their trek around the murky lake he was unable to pick his feet up in strong steps, all but dragging himself forward. Her hand, her presence and proximity gave him more support than he assumed she realized. Gasping for breath, his skin burning with fever born of fatigue and a settling infection, Barbossa’s body finally gave up on him, despite how strong his will remained. He did not want to, falling to his one knee with a growl. He pushed up, straining under some invisible weight, but his legs refused to support him. He buckled and, with reluctance, allowed himself to fall onto his side. Rolling onto his back, he looked up at the canopy above them, marking how it had thinned.

“Progress,” he said, recalling her earlier comments, though, he did not know how long had passed since she had uttered them, “aye. But to what, I wonder? Something all together more sinister than an angry swamp, I’d be willin’ to bet.” He looked towards her, drawing deep, pained breaths and struggling against the darkness that was seeping into his vision. She deserved to know what he knew, or at least what he thought he knew, but he did not have the words. He just stared at her, his eyes reflecting a new, unfamiliar light, as if he were looking at her for the first time. She was dirty from their trek, yet he imagined now he could finally see what he had been missing in their journey thus far about her. A glow. Closing his eyes, his voice thick and belabored, he said, “you’re pregnant, Elizabeth. Did ye know that?”

[Elizabeth Turner]

Elizabeth wasn't surprised when Barbossa's legs began to fail him. As stubborn as he was, his wound was still serious and needed more care before they could properly proceed through the tangled bog. She knelt beside him and placed the Dead Man's Chest on the ground next to her, allowing it to lean almost comfortingly against her. The young woman was worried by the evident fever and the way with which it affected the good Captain. There was no way the man was going to get out of the marsh in this state and Elizabeth was not considering leaving him for help. For all she knew, they could be the only human inhabitants of the strange isle. But she felt so helpless at his side, with hands upon the cloth at the wound in some hope that it would delay whatever fate was in store for him. She offered him a warm gaze, as nervous as it was, and a weak smile as she managed a retort to his observation. "And here I was, hoplessly optimistic and betting that we were making progress into something all together less sinister. Silly me."

It was then that the girl caught the strange, new light that appeared within the Captain's clouded eyes. It was unsettling as much as it was intriguing, and it stirred an uncertain sensation within the pit of her stomach. She furrowed her brows just so as he closed his eyes, as though she wondered as to why he hid such a glimmer from her doeful gaze. Was there something he knew that she did not? Of course there was. For one thing, there was the reason as to why he thought the swamp had aimed to attack her. Concern was etched in her face, however, as she waiting for the voice she knew would come, while her hands squeezed gently upon his own. What could he possibly know that had filled his with such a light? Elizabeth was almost afraid to find out.

And then, he said it.

Pregnant.

Every muscle was frozen within her body as though a great chill had immobilized her. Her eyes were suddenly wide and her lips whispered a faint, "What?" as she pulled her hands away. Her eyes were stern and direct upon Barbossa's face although his own eyes were closed. It was as though she was hoping to look in straight in the air to make sure that this was no joke. Her mind was suddenly blank and bewildered, her senses numbed again with this new doubt and bewilderment. How could Hector Barbossa know of this when she, herself, did not? Shouldn't a woman be the first to know if she was with child? "I'm... what?" she stressed again, gaze still unblinking upon her companion's worn features. This couldn't possibly be true. But couldn't it? After all, she and Will had consummated their marriage. Never once had the young bride wondered if they had actually produced a child. She should have, but the other worries of her mind had shifted it to the back of her thoughts.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as though hugging the possibility of the child snug within her. What was she supposed to feel? Happy? She wasn't sure what she felt as she closed her eyes for but a moment, searching for some sign she had obviously missed. In truth, if she was pregnant, she would be thrilled. But in the urgency of this moment, she was uncertain and lost in an overwhelming rush of thoughts, problems, and worries. Her eyes opened to return to Barbossa, and she spoke again in a voice hushed with uncertainty. "How.... how would you know?" And then she fell silent, heart swelling with this sudden reveal. If she was pregnant... if there was a baby growing in the womb... than Elizabeth Turner would soon be a mother. Despite the eerie swamp that entangled them and despite the blood that stained her fingers, the Pirate King could feel the warmth that was beginning to settle inside of her. This was all too much and yet, there was something of hope in her brown eyes.

[Hector Barbossa]

Barbossa laughed. It was deep and seemed to resonate through the soft earth beneath them. There was meaning in each long sound, the variances of his voice melodious and powerful. It was a laugh he did not often find the opportunity to use, his tone generally one of bitter mocking or cruel intentions, and it made him feel light headed and strange. Gripping his wound, he sat up, examining Elizabeth’s shocked face and absorbing her reaction for all that it was. It pleased him to be the one to deliver such personal news, and for it to have such an impact on her, but he could not imagine why. Piracy did not give way to light moments such as this one, the most blissful news he was likely to hear or give on the seas being something near ‘hey, that other ship didn’t kill us’ or ‘we killed that guy really well’.

The callous, jaded Pirate Lord was somewhat shocked that so short a stay in Elizabeth’s direct company had so crucial an affect on his personality. When she was near him he did not feel obligated to maintain his natural gruff and aloof persona. It wasn’t that this wicked side of him was not who he truly was, for it was and he knew it. He delighted in living up to everything his reputation could only allude to. It was that she had managed to become something more than any other person in his life. She had become a friend to him, in some twisted, unconventional way, and his pride and sense of honor told him to treat her accordingly. Watching her now, reveling in the feeling this incredible, unimaginable moment stirred in him, he knew he was right in his course with her.

He drew a deep breath, using the back of his free arm to wipe sweat from his forehead before it dripped into his eyes. His vision remained blurred; nothing he could do would change that. Still, he fixed his piercing blue eyes on hers, cutting through his dimming sight by sheer force of will. The hope in her eyes, the confusion and the suppressed excitement, mixed with fear and uncertainty to create something beyond beautiful. For a fleeting moment, Barbossa understood why men were often swayed from their destinies by the fairer gender.

“It might sound a bit… delirious,” he said heavily, reluctant to break the moment, “but it were the swamp that told me. At least, it hinted at what you had already begun to say.” He shook his head, gathering his thoughts. It was a difficult task, speaking plainly about something even he could not fully understand. Particularly so when battling infection and fever, “On the Pearl you were restless. Sickly in the mornin’, more of’en than not. I barely took notice. Until that swamp attacked you. It was hopin’ to kill what has barely begun to grow inside you: the child of a woman and the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. Elizabeth, your husband be not a man anymore. He be more than that, and less. Able to traverse two worlds. This place… we did not find it on accident-”

He had only just started his story, his thoughts disconnected and strained, and he knew he had to focus to make it clear for her. She was not an idiot, yet she did not have the experience of legends and lore that the well traveled Pirate Lord had. A wave of pain interrupted him, however, and he doubled up in surprise, a tortured reaction. The movement only worsened what it was supposed to soften, and Barbossa found himself without voice. The pain told him a truth he was not ready to face.

Once again, he was dying.

(Ha, lots of jumbled thoughts. Don't worry, an explanation will come! So if you wanted to do something random, like I do all the time, feel free! I don't want to be 'in charge' of the plot.)

[Elizabeth Turner]

The Captain's laugh didn't even stirr Mrs. Turner from her thoughts. She was still in bewilderment... disorientation... and awe. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She was with child - a child that connected her with the man she loved in flesh and blood. A small, flickering smile managed to flutter upon her lips just so while her dark eyes were glazed over slightly with the stirring of her thoughts. She could feel the warmth filling her with tenative fingers, as though her body was trying to decide if it was all right to feel this way. She even shook her head just once as though in one last attempt to find it all a lie. No. This was the truth and it was beautiful. Despite the suffocating humidity, the danger of the swamp, and the piratical company, Elizabeth Turner couldn't have felt more complete.

Her attention fell back upon the Captain as she swallowed his words, nodding in comprehension and realization as he vocally observed the telltale signs of a pregant woman. She must have been blind to have not seen it before. In truth, she had thought it was because she was so troubled that she had felt ill and restless. But this made so much more sense and she was nearly tempted to laugh as she remembered how she had often lurked at the Black Pearl's railing, sick to her stomach with a sickness she hadn't been able to explain. She became serious and alert, however, when Barbossa mentioned the swamp's attack. Was the child in her womb an anathama upon the? Or a facination? It was disturbing, to hear this news. The bog had attacked because of an unborn babe, like some sort of monster even she had never heard of. It coaxed a slight shudder to her spine, but she managed to keep a stern eye upon the wounded man she knelt beside.

It was sudden when the pain submerged again, causing Elizabeth's hands to rush to the Captain, placing themselves back upon the wound. This was all her fault. She was the one baring the child of the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. She was the one the swamp wanted. She was the one. And yet, Barbossa was the one doubling up with an agony she didn't even dare to comprehend. Guilt was a heavy knot in her throat, squirming in her gut and squeezing her lungs. Not only had she and the Chest been weight to help up the cliff, but now she was the reason for such unimaginable suffering... and God, did it hurt to know this. She was still amazed that he had chosen this fate for himself, having pushed her out of harm's way and now baring her burdan. "Barbossa, please... don't move. Don't speak. Just... just stay with me. Please."

If he died because of her - because of this fate meant for her - then Elizabeth would truly be lost. In the moments she had recently shared with Barbossa, she had become closer to him - as a friend who now understood and respected decisions made between them. The young woman found herself caring deeply for the Captain's health, when some time ago she could have cared less. Hadn't she been dressed in a relieved smile when Barbossa had first been shot on the Isla de Muerta? Hadn't she? But now, as she felt her heart pound with a fresh panic, she wanted only for this pain to be lifted from his body. She wanted his playful grin, his teasing words, his gleaming eyes. She wanted it all back. His agony was enough to place pain into her own heart, which stung as she looked upon his face. And this was all her fault. "We have to do something. I have to do something. There has to be someone here who can help... or something. There has to be something." Her voice was hurried, soft, and urgent. She wouldn't let him die for her sake. She wouldn't. And she even told him so in a whisper as she cradled his head close with a trembling arm. "I won't let you die because of me."

{Ah, but you're so much better at it than I am! xD Perhaps something random will occur later. I couldn't think up anything like that for this post. Elizabeth's too conflicted and I'm too deep in my thoughts. I'm sorry if you feel that you're the one pushing this thing along. I'll try to be more help to you with later posts. <3}

[Hector Barbossa]

(Hahah, it’s all good! I was just suggesting it. ^^ We can have any random thing we want happen, whenever. No worries.)

Barbossa felt his energy slipping away from him, his grip on consciousness waning. The darkness that had been looming in the corners of his vision crept steadily into his sight, dulling the world of color and vibrancy. He struggled to breathe, each halting lungful of air tearing his body with agony. His hazy eyes lingered on Elizabeth’s tortured face, her guilt written plainly over her expression. He was compelled to comfort her, his fingers moving as he tried to will his hand to her shoulder, or even her cheek, but his body would not give him energy enough to do either. He managed a serene smile, breathing deeply despite the pain in an effort to steady his voice.

“I don’t think,” he said slowly, teasingly, after she whispered a promise they both knew she could not keep, “you have much of a choice in the matter. If this be my fate, then there be little either of us can do.”

He watched her for a long moment, his eyes on hers as his mind explored his own body. He had lost an alarming amount of blood, both his arm and chest bleeding too freely for his liking. The damp, acrid bog was rife with bacteria and malicious, viral spores: an infection had been inevitable. It was some strange poison in his blood that stole his energy from him, the pain of his wounds a distant concern in comparison. His fever burned with a rage he could not stifle. Yet as he stared at her he felt something else flare to life inside his veins, slowly taking a course through his limbs with an electrical tingling that could not be bad for him.

With a power that befitted his incomparable nature, he stood. It was a slow, intense climb from horizontal to vertical, yet he made it with a prideful grace that almost seemed too easy. There was no explanation for the strength he found to move his spent body, beyond the look he saw in Elizabeth’s deep, sorrowful brown eyes. It would be unforgivable to die and leave her in this godforsaken swamp, where the trees and bog would delight in her misery until it had utterly defeated her spirit. She would be but a play thing for the wicked spirit that dwelled on this landmass, a living toy whose emotions would never fail to amuse. Leaving her to so torturous a fate would plague his eternal rest. He would not allow himself to give up so easily.

He looked down at the woman responsible for making him realize and dwell in the tender, passionate and even caring part of his nature. With a confidence that seemed to radiate from his entire being, including the blood that stained his silk shirt and dripped listlessly to the floor, he wiped his hand as best he could on his pants before proffering it to her, a gesture to help her up. Breathing with forced evenness, he nodded gravely as his expression slipped into a severe look of grit determination.

“But,” he said, continuing with his conversation despite the time that had lapsed between his previous sentences, “I have ne’er been much for fate. Mine has been in the hands of others for so long. I will not let this bog have the same grace. As long as we be in this mess, Mrs. Turner, I’ll do me best to be alive for it.”

[Elizabeth Turner]

No. He shouldn't be standing. As much as Elizabeth was not a physician of any kind, she was quite sure that standing would not help his condition. But as she watched him rise to his feet with something of elegence, the young Pirate King couldn't help but feel a warmth stirr within her troubled heart. What had urged him so surprisingly smoothly to his feet? What dwelt in his thoughts that now encouraged him to defy the fate he had decided iminent just moments before? Whatever it was, Mrs. Turner was put to utter admiration, which was evident in her worried eyes. One hand scooped the Dead Man's Chest close to her side while the other took the palm of her wounded companion as she was aided to her feet. Her own legs were trembling slightly, as she balanced steadily upon them. Her eyes, however, never left his own - the blue, gleaming gaze that seemed to be growing ever stronger despite the blood that dripped from the wound and the infection that surely swam beneath the flesh. This was foolish of him, to test his body so... but it reminded her of who he was - a proud Pirate Lord; a good man.

A small, fleeting smile was on her lips as she moved her hand to his shoulder, helpful and reassuring to herself more than him. She gazed upon him with a certain respect that had never really been there before. Sure enough, the young miss had, indeed, respected the man before her in earlier ocasions... but in this moment, her eyes were upon his with a warmth that had never been. God, she was worried. She was worried that he would fall dead at any moment, a victim of infection, bloodloss, and a black magic she could never be able to explain. She was worried that they would never find their way out of the bog with their lives... or with their sanity. This was all so much. This was all too much. And yet, she felt an odd sensation of comfort wash along the blood of her veins as she looked up into his face - the face with scars that told a thousand tales.

"I'll do my best to make sure that much is true," she murmured, with that small and curiously serene smile gracing her lips. As helpless and stupid as she felt in this dire situtation, the maternal senses that were becomming more prominent with the presence of her unborn child, urged her to find some calm in this scenario. He was the wounded one... not her. She should be strong, taking charge as the leader and the Pirate King that, beneath it all, she most certainly was. "Let's keep going, then. Whatever it is we're wandering into may, indeed, be worse than this hell we've stumbled into. But it's all we've got." Her voice, though hesitating slightly, was bolder now in this need to keep her head balanced and calm. "And maybe it's not as bad," she optimistically observed with a light chuckle, the vibrations of such subtle laughter in her throat causing her muscles to loosen slightly and her breathing to become less unnatural from panic. Her demeanor had shifted into something authorative and collected, like that of the Pirate King she truly was. But she turned her eyes from the wilderness ahead back upon the Captain's eyes, the air about her changing again into the more tender, personal feeling that was evident in the gentle tones of her softer voice. "Something tells me... we're almost there."

[Hector Barbossa]

(I'm... being random again.)

You would be right about that, Miss Elizabeth.

It was not a voice nor a definable sound. It seemed to fill the air itself, fitting between dust and particles to envelope them in its resonance. It permeated their very skin, translating to recognizable words through a process even the experienced Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea could not explain. It filled his every sense, the sentence carrying with it not only an audible vibration, but a taste, a scent, a texture and even a visible weight that lingered before his eyes, intangible and, for all he knew, not even real.

The interruption sent Barbossa into a defensive posture, despite his injury and lack of weapons to defend himself with. He stepped closer to his companion, arm out stretched as if it would keep her from harm, though, he did not go out of his way. Unless they were attacked and she did not see it coming, as with what happened in the thick of the swamp, he knew she would be capable of holding her own. His muscles tightened as the ‘voice’ invaded their serene moment, shattering what little confidence and determination that had been built. He snarled dangerously, blue eyes scanning every inch of the murky, tangled trees around them.

Thought he did not know exactly what they had stumbled into, he knew they were in danger. There was nothing but malice in this unnatural bog, oozing from trees, wildlife, and even the mud. This ethereal voice, daunting and immeasurably powerful, was nothing short of pure evil. Though it lacked a true tone, it’s words not pronounced in a way regular to human beings, the wicked intentions it carried were fully realized. It made Barbossa’s blood run cold, and he longed for a sword to grasp. A weapon of any sort would give him a confidence that he could not rival unarmed. Being defenseless, injured, and unsure of what he was battling made far too many disadvantages for him than he wanted.

Hector, you must relax. You’re body will fail lest you give it reprieve. I trust you only endeavor to protect the girl and the precious cargo she carries. Let me assure you, she is in no imminent peril. So rest, noble Captain, and allow me the honor of a private conversation with your beautiful companion.

Barbossa turned to Elizabeth, grabbing her arm with severe desperation in his fingers, “listen to me, Elizabeth: this swamp was placed here for us. For you. All of this is part of some clever trap for you. It started on the Pearl, when she was-”

His voice failed. His body all but shut down, every ounce of his remaining strength being forcibly drawn from him. His eyes fell to the floor at his feet, and he saw, not without almost palpable horror, a familiar darkness swirling about his ankles. It crawled up his legs, not simply under the fabric of his pants, but somehow under his skin. It drained him of life, leaving his mind trapped in a body that had no way to move. He fell backwards, unable to do anything to prevent it, his body languid. It was as if his nervous system had been disconnected, every single electrical impulse dying instantly. The crawling shadow moved over his body, seeping into every pore his skin afforded. It found his injury and he soundlessly howled in agony, his face twisted in pain even as he vanished into the living shadow, which almost immediately dissipated after swallowing its victim.

“I imagine he is not one who takes kindly to orders,” a human voice said from nearby. It lacked an accent, and had an indiscernible edge that made it sound like a tiger had acquired a great vocabulary, growling through syllables with a profound power and intensity. A figure dropped from a nearby tree, landing on sturdy legs and straightening to stare at Elizabeth directly. It was a handsome man, with sallow, pale green skin and finely cut facial features. His eyes were a green so rich it seemed to echo the leaves of a rainforest from a far off land. In them shone a magical quality that captivated and ensnared. Tall, muscular, and dressed in fine, earthy clothing, the man approached Elizabeth with something of a swagger in his steps, “does this form please you? It is difficult to tell what certain creatures will react to peaceably. And that is all I ask of you. Your friend, Captain Barbossa, was not willing to follow my instructions. I could feel it in his black heart, and I sent him to my home, where he will find the rest he deserves. But yours is a demeanor far removed from that of a pirate, despite your titles. I believe that to be the result of you carrying not simply your own heart, but those of two other beings. A great burden.”

He locked eyes with her, “Will you hear me?”

[Elizabeth Turner]

Again, everything happened all too quickly for Mrs. Elizabeth Turner.

The faceless voice startled the woman as she tried to keep a firm grasp upon the Chest and the Captain. Her spine was instantly caressed by a creeping, wicked sensation that drew it straight and prickling along her back. She gasped, a sound that bordered close to a horrified squeal, as this voice was accompanied by an animated shadow - one that was consuming her companion with a rapid, eerie hunger. She was frightened by the desparate, clutching fingers that had her arm in an urgent grasp. Her free hand was tight upon his arm, not wanting to simply allow him to be so easil devoured. After all they'd been through, after all of this evil and this hell... she was not going to allow Captain Barbossa to be so easily taken. And yet, she had no choice. His arm was engulfed by the gluttonous shade, as was the rest of his body. The expression that twisted his scarred features made the girl's eyes widen and her flesh to crawl, now with the bumps of gooseflesh. What was happening? What was going on? Why, again, had the brave Captain of the Black Pearl been the barer of such agony? She felt helpless, pathetic, weak, and frail as Hector Barbossa was completely swallowed into a writhing mass of nothingness that Elizabeth would never be able to explain. And now, as she was left alone for but the slightest moment, her arms held the Dead Man's Chest close against her chest, as though it was the only piece of the world she had left. In truth, it was such a precious fragment.

She jumped involuntarily as a new voice trickled to her ears. Her brown eyes were wide in unmasked fear as they flickered cautiously about the woodland, the woman's heart pounding wild in her throat. She could feel her husband's heartbeat as well, though it was still steady and rhythmic within its iron box. It was an odd contrast against the frightened beat of her own, and failed even to comfort the Pirate Lord as she attempted to locate the origin of this new, human voice. This one lacked the suffocating, omni presence of the other voice but it still drew a shudder to her already-shaken spine. Indeed, Elizabeth Turner had faced many a monster... but she had never felt so vulnerable as she did now. She fidgeted slightly as a man's form fell, oddly graceful, from a tree. Her legs trembled for a moment in the desparate instinct to escape; to flee from this awful place and find refuge somewhere that she doubted could even exist. The evil had tracked her down here... wouldn't it just be able to do so wherever she went? Besides, she was being weak. She was being a fool. She was being everything that Barbossa would disapprove of. And, quite lately, Elizabeth had come to care about what the Captain thought of her. He was no longer the pirate she could not place. He was a friend. And as she clutched the Chest close and eyed this new man with a hesitant stare, she missed her friend with a new ache in her heart.

Who was this handsome, green-skinned, hauntingly calm man of the swamp? Elizabeth dearly wanted not to know. The slight swagger in his stride even caused the woman to step back a pace, unnerved by his demeanor and his approach. Barbossa had spoken to her so urgently and truthfully - she had seen the panic, or something like panic, alive like a fire in his eyes. What had he said? This swamp was a trap - a trap for her. But the Captain had been engulfed by the shadow before he had been able to complete his warning. She dared not to loosen her mental grasp upon the few words he had been able to manage, however, and swallowed her fear behind clenched teeth. With Barbossa... unavailable... Elizabeth would have to step up. She would have to relocate her pirate's instincts and intellect for this bizarre encounter, despite how much she wished to curl into a defensive ball and wait for the shadows to swallow her up as well. Mrs. Turner had never been one easily broken. Now was to be no exception.

It was in that moment, as the bog's man spoke in that voice and walked in that stride, that Elizabeth managed to regain composure. She steadily straightened up, eyes no longer doeful and lost as they became narrowed with a new, almost aggressive air. She was done with shrinking away. She was done with letting this swamp have its way with her as it already had. She had to defend the Chest, her unborn child, and possibly even the Caspian Sea's noble Lord. Fear couldn't be part of the game, anymore. For if it was, then surely she'd be eaten alive. By this monster? No. By herself. So with her chin tilting upwards just so and with teeth bared in evident, smoldering anger, the Pirate King spoke. "What do you want?" It was more a statement then a question, not caring at all for the eloquent manner with which her eerie company had addressed her. It was calm, and in a voice dark and seemingly deadly. She was no match to whatever dark magic the swamplands hid, and she was well aware of that. But she refused to crumple to its whims like a dying flower. The images of the shadow consuming Barbossa and the sensation of the faceless voice were still swimming within her head and heart, prickling her neck with the fear that would linger there. But still, she was bristled and hurt - smoldering with an anger raw and hot towards this bog and its devilish intentions. Whatever it wanted, why did it have to inflict such agony upon Barbossa? Why did it seek her unborn babe? Why? Elizabeth Turner forgot none of Barbossa's words even as she glared upon the mysterious man and held the Dead Man's Chest ever closer to her breast.

She had just about had enough.