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theiratepirate · 3 years

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Sparrow's Nest: Chapter 1--A Lovely Lilly

Summary: Will Turner learns something about his friend Lillian Thomas.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: a fight scene, mentions of death by hanging

Author’s Note: Leave a review!

——————————————————————————

T. B. Chymist and Druggist is a hive of activity when Will arrives. A harried mother holding her wailing child on one hip haggles with the lad behind the counter, and two sullen boys sit in the corner sharing the only wiry chair, one with a fat lip and the other with bleeding knuckles. Will watches with some amusement as the two boys are seen by the physician, who promptly smacks both of them upside the head for causing such ruckus.

Two large windows rest on either side of the worn front door, sending in shafts of warm light. Already the day is hot, and a familiar brown boot props open the wooden door to let in some air. To the right side is a thin staircase that Will knows leads up the second floor residence. The physician’s office is to the left, connected to the apothecary directly by another door, and the whole first floor is partitioned off into a cramped waiting area and the back shelves by a smooth, shining counter.

Will nods to the counter boy as he passes, ducking around the shelves and through an opening to the back room where he predicts Lillian will be. The back room isn’t much but had been less before Lillian arrived. Before it had been a dank little space, but now it sports a few high windows to let in the noon light and a back door that is open more often than not.

There’s also a small sofa, salvaged from Mrs. Wooding’s home when the poor widow had finally died, and more than once he’s discovered Lillian taking a mid-afternoon nap. But mostly the back room is devoted to the pricier drugs and concoctions that have not yet been prepared, as well as providing direct access to the impressive herb garden used by both the physician and the chymist.

Lillian’s not in the back room, so she must be in the garden, and Will grins when he catches her unaware, humming an unfamiliar song and dancing around long sprigs of thyme and rosemary. She’s barefoot, proving his theory that it is her boot holding open the front door.

She’s really quite pretty like this, without any sort of guise or mask up to conform to society. There’s a certain beauty in hard-working women. Calloused fingers and worn boots and a head held high.

Lillian’s long navy skirt snags on some basil and she laughs, catching his gaze.

“Good morning,” she chirps, tugging out of the basil. The tight blue cuffs on the arms of her otherwise loose white top match her skirt. Visually, Lillian is very tidy.

“Good morning, Lillian,” Will says. “How was your evening?” He’s asking mostly out of politeness. Both of them know that working every other night at the Royal Anchor Tavern isn’t ideal, but Lillian uses the extra money to purchase good clothes and good food and live as comfortable a life as one can get in the working class of Port Royal.

“Not bad, actually,” Lillian shrugs. “A man passed out before finishing his rum, so I got a little bonus when bussing tables.”

Will grimaces and she laughs again.

“But thank you for offering to accompany me this morning,” she continues, tugging him into the back room. “Governor Swann is feeling under the weather and the trek to his manor is awful boring by yourself.”

“It’s no bother,” he assures. “I have a delivery to make as well.”

Lillian hums. “That sword, correct? The fancy one with gold filigree in the handle.” She lowers her voice, changing her slight Scottish twist to that of a proper Englishman.

“You’re mocking me.”

“Of course I am,” she grins, expertly folding a scrap of cloth into a little package. “You haven’t stopped yammering about that sword since the commission came in. And someone as uptight as Norrington deserves to be mocked.”

She says the captain’s name with some irritation, like he had personally offended her in the past, but he doesn’t comment. Instead he watches silently as she gathers a stalk he recognizes as marshmallow root and plucks a few leaves, nestling them into the cloth and tying off the entire bundle with twine. When it’s all said and done the plant looks as full as ever and Will wonders if she deliberately undercut the Governor.

“This won’t be enough to last a week,” she explains, catching his curious gaze. “The Governor will have to purchase more.” She grins wickedly. “I’m an honest lass, but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy to swindle a rich man.”

——————————————————————————

The man who answers the door looks disgustedly down at the pair before stiffly asking their business.

“Will Turner and Lillian Thomas to see Governor Swann,” Will says, feeling himself melt in the heat. “We have deliveries.”

“Give them here,” the butler responds, brandishing impatient hands.

“I think it would be best if we delivered our parcels,” Lillian argues. “I’m carrying very particular herbs to banish the Governor’s cough. It would be a shame if his butler didn’t receive proper steeping instructions and accidentally poisoned the man. Although I do suppose it would be an interesting hanging down at the fort.”

The butler frowns. Up the gravel path, an ornate carriage pulled by two shining horses comes to the front door. The carriage driver is wearing a white wig, similar to the butler.

“Very well,” the butler decides. “But please be swift.” He leads them into the cool house, and Will catches Lillian’s eye as she winks.

They’re left alone in the foyer and neither can keep their hands still. Lillian runs gentle fingers over the light pink petals of the lovely bouquet at the center of the small table, and Will fiddles with a wall sconce. One of the arms snaps in his hands, and Lillian whirls around at the sharp noise, clapping a hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter upon catching Will’s panicked expression.

“Quick,” she grins, flapping a hand at the large vase of canes below the sconce. “Put it in the pot!” He shoves it into the vase, disrupting the canes.

“Ah, Mister Turner!” a portly voice says, and the pair look up to see Governor Swann descending the staircase. “Good to see you again. And Miss…” he frowns at Lillian. “Apologies, but I’ve quite forgotten your name.”

“Lillian Thomas, sir,” she answers, not impolitely. “I have the remedy for your cold.” Will notices that she doesn’t curtsey, as does the Governor, who raises a brow at her slight impertinence.

“I’ll send for the butler, Miss Thomas, and he can take note of any special instructions.”

“No need, sir,” she says, contrary to the threat she had given the butler about a specific brewing method. “Just add two or three leaves in your morning and afternoon tea. You’ve a week’s supply in the package.” She places the little cloth parcel on the table.

“You have my thanks, Miss Thomas,” Governor Swann says, indeed sounding slightly congested. This time Lillian does curtsey, a tiny thing that doesn’t last more than five seconds, and as she pushes back her curtain of auburn hair, Will notices a patch of shining scar tissue beneath her ear.

He knows that there are ropelike scars on her forearms, memories of a house fire, she had once explained, but he had no idea the scars extended up to her neck.

“And I have your order, sir,” Will says, going through the motions of displaying his sword, catching Lillian’s smirk when he pridefully points out the gold lacing in the handle.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” the Governor exclaims, and both he and Lillian follow the Governor’s gaze to the first landing on the staircase. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Will finds it suddenly hard to breathe.

“Will,” Elizabeth greets cheerfully, ignoring her father. “It’s so good to see you. I had a dream about you last night.” She notices Lillian. “Good morning, Miss Thomas.”

“About me?” Will stutters as Lillian smiles and pulls out another small package.

“Cramp bark, Miss Swann, as requested,” she says. “You know the instructions.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth says gratefully, taking the package. Then she turns to Will. “My dream—it was about the day we met. Do you remember?”

“How could I forget, Miss Swann?” he answers. Distantly, he hears the Governor ask Lillian when his daughter had visited the apothecary to order cramp bark, but all he can focus on is the sweet scent of Elizabeth’s soap filling his nose.

“Will, how many times must I ask you to call me Elizabeth?” she asks, looking at him so intently it feels as if she’s peering into his soul. Her kind eyes sparkle when he risks a glance at her.

“At least once more, Miss Swann,” he says. “As always.”

“We really must be going,” the Governor announces, a slight blush on his cheeks. He pushes a small parasol and matching fan into Elizabeth’s hands and pulls her away, nodding swiftly at Will and ignoring Lillian.

“Thank you once more, Miss Thomas,” Elizabeth says. “And good day, Mister Turner.” Something warm fills Will’s chest at her teasing.

“Good day,” he whispers, barely feeling Lillian’s hand gripping his elbow and pulling him from the foyer. “Elizabeth.”

The pair watch the carriage rumble away, then Lillian grins and looks up at him, squinting in the morning light. “You have a lady problem, William Turner.” she says matter-of-factly, and a flush rises on his neck. “But what say you to a late breakfast at the Royal Anchor? My treat.”

——————————————————————————

Will spits a glob of sand and ash out of his mouth, relaxing his sword arm. “You cheated!”

“Pirate,” the man grins, indeed looking the part. His clothes are dirty and his eyes are rimmed in dark eye makeup, and dark dreadlocks are pushed away from his face by dark red cloth being used as a bandana. Most concerning is the thin gun pointed straight at Will’s forehead.

There’s a thump from the front door to the smithy. Will and the pirate snap out of their stances, both glancing to the failing wooden door.

“Move away,” the pirate demands.

“No,” Will counters, readying his sword despite knowing its uselessness against a gun.

“Please move.”

“No! I cannot just step aside and let you escape!”

The pirate cocks the gun, straightening his aim. The desperation in his eyes doesn’t match the seriousness of his stance. “This shot is not meant for you,” he says. Will tenses.

The tinkle of shattering glass is out of place, but the pirate collapses in a sudden heap, revealing Mister Brown, the mostly useless owner of the smithy. Will gapes as the front door breaks and Norrington and his men flood in, surrounding the trio.

“Excellent work, Mister Brown,” the Commodore says, and Will drops his sword arm, the tension in his body replaced with frustration. “You’ve assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive.”

“Jus’ doing my civic duty, sir,” Mister Brown slurs, looking up at Norrington with sunken, dark eyes. Everything is extremely frustrating, especially since this all only came about because that pirate cheated.

“Well,” Commodore Norrington says importantly, gazing down at the unconscious pirate at his feet. “I trust you will always remember this as the day that Captain Jack Sparrow almost escaped.” Will doesn’t understand the meaning of his words but the surrounding men smirk, and Norrington nods once to Mister Brown before turning on his heel. “Take him away.”

Neither master nor apprentice moves until the naval men are gone. Mister Brown looks at Will, grunts something about leg irons, and shuffles back to his corner, sitting down heavily. Disgusted, Will decides to leave the shards of glass on the ground, exiting out the back door the pirate had so desperately wanted to use to find Lillian.

“What happened to you?” she exclaims when he enters the back room of the apothecary. “Sit down!” He sits lightly on the sofa as she busies herself with wetting a rag, careful to keep from staining the blue velvet. The sofa is old and faded and even though Lillian wouldn’t be angered if he were to stain it, Will sits on the edge in any case.

The rag smells like rosemary, having been dipped in a bucket used to water the garden, and Will obediently closes his eyes as Lillian works the dirt, dust, and sweat from his person. She has to wring it out multiple times but shushes his apology when he notices the bucket of water now carries an orange tint.

“It’s plant water, not drinking water,” she assures. “No harm done there. But what happened, Will? Was it at the smithy?”

“I dueled a pirate,” he says, and Lillian’s ministrations still. “He was caught at the docks but escaped by threatening Miss Swann. I found him in the shop.”

“A pirate,” Lillian murmurs, sounding strange.

“Don’t worry,” Will says. “Norrington and his men caught up to him. And I’m not injured.”

“Do you know who it was? There’s no pirate foolish enough to make for Port Royal. Everyone in the Caribbean knows Norrington and his pirate-hunting brigade make port here.”

“Jack, Norrington called him,” Will hums. “Jack Sparrow.”

Lillian’s head snaps up. “Are you sure?” Will nods and her eyes slip closed.

“Don’t worry, Lillian,” he says, interpreting her actions as anxiety. “He’s being taken to the fort as we speak, and if he somehow manages to escape once more I’ll protect you.”

——————————————————————————

Will wakes as the first round of cannonballs slam into Port Royal. He doesn’t comprehend what’s happening until the screams start, and by the time the second set of cannon fire hits he’s armed with a sword, hatchet, and knife to fight whatever adversary is out there.

Pirates are running through Port Royal, breaking for the sake of having things broken, stealing for the sake of having things stolen, and killing for the sake of having things killed.

He takes up arms without hesitation, making for the little apartment near the Royal Anchor Tavern. Lillian has no weapons training. If she’s found, she’ll be gutted.

He’s halfway down the road when a flash of blonde catches his eye. Elizabeth Swann is being pulled by a few pirates toward the water, toward the ship, away from Port Royal and him.

Suddenly, Lillian doesn’t seem very important.

“Will!” she cries, finding him in the crowd.

“Elizabeth!” he shouts, prepared to kill everything in his path to save her, but a sudden sharp pain at the back of his neck sends him sinking into unconscious oblivion.

He wakes hours later, the sun warming his face. A deceptive calm blankets Port Royal, and Will’s gut sinks when he sees that the pirates and their ship are gone. If they’re gone, then Elizabeth is as well.

Will stands, sways, and fully intends to make for the Commodore’s office, but freezes when he sees which building he is standing in front of. T. B. Chymist and Druggist has been reduced to a smoking pile of rubble and wood. Ignoring the swimming of his vision, Will dashes for the back door, hoping beyond hope that he won’t find Lillian lifeless under the wreck.

The back half of the building is only accessible from the main street through a thin alley and is thus mostly intact, save for the shattered windows and door that hangs loose from its hinges. Will checks the handle. The door had been locked from the inside, and ripped from its frame.

Something ugly settles in his stomach.

Lillian isn’t in the back room, and there’s no obvious signs of struggle within. Without bothering to prop up the door, Will makes for Lillian’s little second-floor room that she rents from the seamstress on the ground floor, a five-minute walk from the apothecary and next to the Royal Anchor tavern.

He darts past the seamstress, who is scrubbing dark red stains from her front step, and ascends the stairs, going to the end of the short hall and passing the seamstress’ apartment door to Lillian’s corner room. This door hasn’t been forced open, but it isn’t locked and the inside of the room is complete carnage.

Lillian’s wardrobe is flung open, skirts spilling out onto the floor. Her bed has been stripped to a bare mattress and he cannot locate the quilts. The pot of ink on the desk has been overturned onto the papers, dripping steadily onto the wooden floorboards. Her small nightstand is on its face, and when Will sets it back to rights he sees the lock on the top drawer has been broken. The drawer itself is empty.

The window on the far side of the room is wide, letting in a good amount of sunlight, and when a slight breeze ruffles Will’s hair he notices the window is also open. He peers out. The bushes directly below the window are mysteriously flat.

Had Lillian been desperate enough to jump out of her second-story window? There’s evidence that pirates made it into her room. Maybe the pirates had even sought her out as a female prize, searching first her place of work and then her place of residence.

The thought is sickening.

From the window, Will can see the third floor of the Governor’s manor, resting high above the rest of Port Royal, deeper into the island. Elizabeth’s cry for help rings in his ears, as he’s surrounded by Lillian’s destroyed room.

He needs help.

——————————————————————————

A massive headache blooms in the back of Will’s head, shortening his temper as he attempts to negotiate with the disgraced pirate in front of him.

“Why ask me?” Jack Sparrow drawls, studying his nails.

“Because you’re a pirate,” Will grinds out, resisting the urge to reach through the bars and shake Sparrow by his dreadlocks.

“And you want to turn a pirate yourself, is that it?”

“Never!” he snaps. “They took Miss Swann. And...”

“And what, boy?” Sparrow prompts.

“And Lillian is missing,” he says, twin waves of grief and adrenaline crashing into him.

“Lillian?” the pirate says sharply. “Lillian what?”

“Thomas. Lillian Thomas,” Will answers, narrowing his eyes. “Why does it matter?”

“What’s your name?”

“Will Turner,” he says, growing irritated. “But who is Lillian to you?”

“Who is Miss Swann to you?” Sparrow challenges, and he flushes. “But Will Turner. That will be short for William, I imagine. Good, strong name. No doubt named for your father, eh?”

Will nods. “Yes.”

“Well, Mister Turner, I’ve changed me mind,” Jack Sparrow says importantly, as if he is outside the cell rather than in. “If you spring me from this cell, I swear on pain of death I shall take you to the Black Pearl and your bonny lass. Do we have an accord? And how exactly will you spring me from my cell?”

Will hesitates. Elizabeth has been taken, Commodore Norrington isn’t moving near swift enough, and Lillian is gone.

She could be anywhere. Dead, dying, kidnapped like Elizabeth.

Jack Sparrow is his only hope.

“I helped build these cells,” he says. “These are half pin-barrel hinges. With the right leverage and the proper application of strength the door will lift free.”

“An interesting trick,” Sparrow agrees, “but do we have an accord?”

“Yes,” Will says, gripping Sparrow’s hand tight, and in the dim light of the prison cells, Jack’s pirate brand gleams, alongside a tiny tattooed lily flower.

——————————————————————————

Will is not even an hour into this venture and is already beginning to regret the decision to work with one Jack Sparrow. The man is irritating beyond measure. Too cocky. Not entirely right in the head.

And apparently crazy enough to hang his partner over the edge of the ship.

“Now, as long as you’re just hanging there, pay attention,” Jack says, calm but with an edge of anger. “The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can’t do. For instance, you can accept that your father was a pirate and a good man or you can’t. But pirate is in your blood, boy, so you’ll have to square with that someday. Now me, for example. I can let you drown, but I can’t bring this ship into Tortuga all by me onesie, savvy? So,” he concludes, swinging Will back on deck and offering him his sword, “can you sail under the command of a pirate, or can you not?”

“Tortuga?” he asks after a beat.

“Tortuga,” Jack nods.

“Tortuga,” a third voice says, and both men jump.

There, perched on the edge of the railing, sits Lillian.

Jack and Will have very different reactions.

Will first notices Lillian’s attire. Instead of a skirt or dress she’s wearing tight dark pants tucked into the tops of her familiar brown boots. Her shirt is mostly the same, loose and bell-sleeved and cinched at the wrists, but the addition of a brown half-bust corset cuts out any additional fabric around her waist and accentuates her gentle curves.

But the most terrifying thing? Now that her auburn hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, Will can see the glint of dark hooped earrings, dark kohl around her eyes in a style reminiscent of Jack’s, and better make out the shining, puckered scar just below her left ear.

The skin is pulled taut over the burn, stretched and raw. It doesn’t look particularly recent, but painful nonetheless, and in any case it’s clear that Lillian has the pirate’s brand.

“Lillian?” Will breathes, both relieved and betrayed.

“Lilly, luv!” Jack cries, going to her in three quick strides and cupping her face, looking at her for only a moment before embracing her in an impassioned kiss. Lillian reciprocates, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Will remembers Jack’s interest in Lillian’s name and the small flower tattoo, and with the addition of her pirate brand there’s really only one conclusion.

“No!” he shouts, stomping up to the pair.

“Yes,” Jack counters, surfacing for air and lifting Lillian off of the railing. He keeps an arm around her waist. “We’re on a mission to rescue your bonny lass, and here we just found mine.”

“I found you, more like,” Lillian points out.

“Aye, luv,” Jack readily agrees. “But how exactly did you find us?”

“Just had to think like you,” she says, speaking to Jack but looking at Will. “And no one pays attention to a woman sneaking on board. I just had to stay silent and still. Norrington didn’t even notice me aboard the Interceptor.”

“Brilliant!” Jack declares. “Rum to celebrate!”

“There won’t be any. This is a naval ship.”

“Wine, then,” Jack shrugs. “Anything will do, so long as I got me lovely Lilly.” He kisses her once more, then heads down the stairs to find something to pillage, humming lightly.

“What are you doing here?” Will immediately demands, rounding on Lillian.

“It’s not obvious?” she asks.

“You’re a pirate,” he spits, fixing her with a glare when she smirks. “Lillian, we were friends,” he says, pained. “Give me the truth. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“In all honesty, no,” she admits. “You were never meant to find out.”

“But I did find out,” he accuses. “And don’t tell me you didn’t mean for me to figure it out this way.”

“No, this is about as good as it gets,” Lillian quips.

Will scowls.

“We’re still friends, Will,” Lillian says. “Me being a pirate doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything!”

“How?” she challenges, and Will finds that he cannot answer. Instead, he spins on his heel and stomps down the steps, nearly crashing into Jack Sparrow as he appears, balancing four dusty bottles of wine, some salt pork, and a block of fancy cheese.

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