Will repeated the pattern again. Slash to the right, parry low, parry high, step to the left, slash again and thrust. He checked to make sure his leg was well extended and his hips square with his weight centered properly. He held the lunge for a moment and then stood and began again. His concentrated efforts were wearing a shiny green path into the dusty lawn, he noted with some small pride. He was certain that if he worked diligently enough at this that he would become great. He stopped his endless practicing at the small, delicate cough emanating from the reclining figure on the shaded settee nearby. He blushed when he realized that she had put her book down and was staring at him. He wondered how long she had been watching. He took a step toward her and tripped over his discarded shoes. She giggled as he picked himself up.

"Listen to this, Will." Elizabeth picked the book up and began reading.

"She turned toward the pirate, her violet eyes shining far brighter than the jewels he had taken from her neck. The pirate leaned in, his ebony hair whipping in the wind, and kissed her delicately on her ruby lips before leaping to the rail and swinging back to his magnificent galleon. As he stood on the deck, his words floated back to her on a zephyr. 'My lady, you will remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow.' Isn't that absolutely romantic? Wouldn't you just love to be that pirate?"

"No. He deserves a short drop and a sudden stop like all pirates."

"You've been spending far too much time with Lieutenant Norrington, Will. All you do is work and practice your sword." She was near to pouting, Will could see.

"I do not get my notions about pirates from the lieutenant, Miss Elizabeth. My views are my own in this matter." He could see she was upset when he said this, but he couldn't say otherwise, even to her. If he really told her the truth, she would be horrified, he thought. That he didn't care to see them hanged at all, that he'd rather kill each and every one himself, with his own hands and sword. Elizabeth would never understand that; to her they were still romantic and mysterious. She hadn't been there, hidden in a water cask, unable to move, to shout a warning, to do anything but watch the horror on deck as they raped the women, ripping apart their clothing and bodies, as they killed the men, beating them and torturing them for amusement while the women screamed and screamed for mercy. She hadn't smelled the awful reek of the burning bodies, the hair and charred flesh, and been too cowardly to stand up and die with them. He shook himself clear of the memory and realized that she was watching him, concern on her face. He wanted her to never feel what he was feeling, to always be laughing and carefree, and for all her pirates to be like the imaginary Captain Sparrow. In that moment, something changed in the way he looked at her.

"It's no matter, Miss Swann, I'm sure your Captain Sparrow is a good man." He returned to his practice.

When he looked back again, she was still looking at him and her eyes were brighter than the forge, brighter than the sun, even if they were brown and not violet.

He was no pirate, though. Slash, parry, parry, step, slash, lunge.