Coming awake feels like swimming towards the surface. He finds himself wet and surrounded by the stench of seaweed, and there is an unfamiliar taste on his lips.

"Welcome back."

He turns his head slowly. The lone lantern doesn't shed much light, but it's sufficient for him to recognise the seated man.

"I thought you were dead?"

"Shouldn't believe everything you hear, mate."

Memories flood back, images—things that were no longer men, pain.

"I thought I was dead."

"Temporary setback. Happens to the best of us."

"How?"

"Seems the captain of the Flying Dutchman felt he was in my debt, so he gave me you."

"Davy Jones gave me to you?"

"No. Young William gave you to me."

"William Turner?"

"Aye."

"How?"

"Apparently the captain of the Flying Dutchman can do all sorts of things with people who die at sea."

"Like me."

"Like us."

He takes a deep breath, stares at the ceiling. It looks suspiciously like a ship's keel.

"Where are we?"

"Shipwreck Cove."

There is part of him that insists that it is nothing more than a fairytale, that he must be dreaming, that he has been dreaming for so long now. He ignores it.

"Why?"

"Been visiting my parents, like a good son ought, savvy?"

He follows the pirate's gaze to what turns out to be a shrunken head on the table. He blinks.

"Have I gone mad?"

"Nay, mate, that'd be me."

He ponders this for a moment. Then he ponders something else.

"Why am I wet?"

"That'd probably be the bucket of seawater I threw at you."

"Why?"

"To wake you up, of course. Didn't work, though."

"And yet, here I am—awake."

"Aye, well—ever hear the story of Sleeping Beauty?"

"You kissed me?"

"Aye."

He does not notice himself licking his lips.

"I can't seem to recall it."

"Well, you were asleep at the time."

"Oh."

He sits up, then, and combs his fingers through his wet hair. He sighs.

"So, what happens now?"

"You wouldn't by any chance happen to recall a fellow by the name of Barbossa?"

He frowns.

"Wasn't he dead?"

"Seems to be a lot of that going around these days."

"True."

"Anyway, he's run off with me Pearl."

"What, again?!"

At least the damn pirate has the good grace to look embarrassed about it—for a moment, anyway. Then the man gets to his feet.

"So, James Norrington, I was wondering if I might be able to tempt you into doing a spot of pirate-hunting for me, as it were?"

Now the pirate is grinning like a lunatic and offering him a very familiar sword. To his surprise, he feels his own lips twist back into something that might be an answering grin and might be something worse.

"Oh yes."

Read Post-AWE 2: Cinderella