And the Winds of Destiny...
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
3,647
Reviews:
39
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
3,647
Reviews:
39
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Epilogue - The Cane
And the Winds of Destiny, by Hellborne (the_ferret_mom@yahoo.com)
Pirates of the Caribbean – 13+
Copyright. Characters, not mine. See the Mouse. Story, mine, but I make no money. He does, but not on this.
Typing convention: / is used for thoughts. # is used for speech/writing in German. * - * - * is used for scene change/elapsed time.
Summary: How do you cheer up a depressed Sparrow?
Beta: The great BetaGoddess Pendragginink. She’s fantastic! And way too modest for her own good!
A/N: Apparently some fangirls went to Greg Ellis and asked him Groves’ first name. I don’t know if it was in reference for fanfics or if he even reads them, but hopefully he doesn’t take offense if he does. Anyway, it’s officially Theodore Groves, so any fics that I had previously done have had the name changed.
IMPORTANT NOTE: This is the sequel to “The Makings of a Pirate”. If you don’t read the first story, you’re missing EVERYTHING, so if you haven’t read it, please go do so and come back or you won’t understand anything.
NOTE: I live for reviews. Being quite depressed lately about my health and missing my job, I could really use some reviews…and don't think I’m begging for cudos! I happen to love flames and constructive criticism just as much and sometimes more! Lord knows, without constructive criticism, I'd have never fixed some of the boo boos I've made!
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
May the wind always be at your back
And the sun always upon your face
And the winds of destiny to carry you aloft to dance with the stars.
--Old Irish Blessing as quoted by George Jung (“Blow”)
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
Epilogue – The Cane
(Six Months Later)
Governor Lawrence Hanover’s office was decorated far differently than the way Governor Smythe-Douglass had kept it. The cheerful yellow lace curtains were gone; replaced by more appropriate (to Lawrence, anyway) drapes of burgundy brocade. The divan was still there, but now of a matching burgundy to the drapes rather than the poofy lilac that the previous occupant had kept. The bar was kept well-stocked and within easy access to everyone; the Governor was a heavy drinker. The painting of the gallows had been replaced with a portrait he’d brought from England painted when he was a boy; it was of he and his father, though everyone thought it was of Prince Lawrence and a younger relative, so much did he now look like his father had then. Prince Lawrence was standing at the window as he did each day, watching the ocean waves. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He knew he’d never see his father again. He sat at his desk and went over today’s work. Bored already, he walked back to the window and looked out again, opening the window to breathe the salt air. It reminded him of his father.
There was a knock at the door. “Yes?”
Commodore Gillette entered the room and poured a generous glass of rum for the Governor and a snifter of brandy for himself. The Governor turned from the window and took the glass. “Thank you, Jonathan.”
They spoke for a while of the goings on of Jamaica and the surrounding islands; of pirates and privateers; of ladies and of old friends. During this time, Loki and Ishtar bounced around their feet, tumbling all over each other.
Then Gillette noticed something odd about the way Lawrence was standing. “Lawrence, where’s your cane?”
Lawrence looked down to his empty hand and smiled gently. “Oh...yes. I suppose I lost it. I haven’t been able to find it for the last few days. I’ll have to get it replaced soon; I’ve been putting a bit too much weight on that knee without it.” He looked out the window again, seeming to ignore Gillette for a moment. “It’s his birthday, you know. He’d have been forty-four years old today. I only wish that the captain of the Freedom had listened to him. The helmsman told me that Raymond had begged them to heave to before the storm started but the captain wouldn’t listen.” He held up his glass to the painting behind his desk. “Happy Birthday, you old pirate. I truly miss you.”
Gillette raised his glass and saluted the portrait. “I too. Happy Birthday, Jack Sparrow.”
* - * - *
Captain Robert James examined the line of men attempting to become part of the Black Pearl’s crew and smiled. /Not the usual ragtag sailors to choose from. Looks like maybe even an ex-military man or two, by their bearing./ He walked up to the first man, who was near half a head taller than he. “Name and experience, sailor.”
“The name’s Tom, sir. I sailed with Cap’n Powell for six months, and before that I was a merchant sailor, sir, with the Smythe-Douglass Shipping Company.”
Robert smiled. “Sign the articles and grab yourself a billet, Tom!” He moved to the next man.
Robert kept going down the line, accepting all of the men so far, as they were all well-experienced and weren’t of a violent nature as far as he could tell. He asked the same questions of each man. Then he came to a man about his own height, his chestnut brown hair with several small, beaded braids reaching to his collar, and sporting a neat goatee. After a quick double take, Robert laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Mr. Groves, while I’m sorry to see you’ve left the navy, I’m glad to see you! Welcome aboard the Black Pearl!”
As Groves strode up the gangplank and waited at the top, Robert stared at the small man before him. Black hair tied in a short queue straight back in a tuft; it couldn’t even be to his shoulders if it weren’t tied up, and some of it hung in his face. One black eye stared out of a heart-shaped face; the other eye was covered by a patch. Trim goatee much like Groves’, and a black cane with a silver skull handle to help him stand with a left hip that appeared to have been broken and healed not quite right. There was a white ash fid hanging from his belt. Robert managed to remain stone-faced as he looked him over and asked his questions. “Name and experience, sailor.”
His voice was a mild tenor and had an Irish accent, but Robert recognized it nonetheless. “Call me Johnny, Sir. And I’ve sailed these waters for nigh on thirty years under various captains, most lately Captain Moran of the Lord’s Vein.”
Robert smiled gently. /If he wants to remain anonymous, I’ll let him. He’s been killed more times than anyone should be, though I hope this time he stays “dead”. I AM glad that he chose to come to me...but then again...I pity the poor sod who would try to keep Jack Sparrow from his Lady./ “Welcome aboard the Black Pearl...Johnny.”
* - * - *
End
A/N: Littlebird: Could you please email me at the_ferret_mom@yahoo.com? I need to offer you something!
Pirates of the Caribbean – 13+
Copyright. Characters, not mine. See the Mouse. Story, mine, but I make no money. He does, but not on this.
Typing convention: / is used for thoughts. # is used for speech/writing in German. * - * - * is used for scene change/elapsed time.
Summary: How do you cheer up a depressed Sparrow?
Beta: The great BetaGoddess Pendragginink. She’s fantastic! And way too modest for her own good!
A/N: Apparently some fangirls went to Greg Ellis and asked him Groves’ first name. I don’t know if it was in reference for fanfics or if he even reads them, but hopefully he doesn’t take offense if he does. Anyway, it’s officially Theodore Groves, so any fics that I had previously done have had the name changed.
IMPORTANT NOTE: This is the sequel to “The Makings of a Pirate”. If you don’t read the first story, you’re missing EVERYTHING, so if you haven’t read it, please go do so and come back or you won’t understand anything.
NOTE: I live for reviews. Being quite depressed lately about my health and missing my job, I could really use some reviews…and don't think I’m begging for cudos! I happen to love flames and constructive criticism just as much and sometimes more! Lord knows, without constructive criticism, I'd have never fixed some of the boo boos I've made!
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
May the wind always be at your back
And the sun always upon your face
And the winds of destiny to carry you aloft to dance with the stars.
--Old Irish Blessing as quoted by George Jung (“Blow”)
* - * - * - * - * - * - * - *
Epilogue – The Cane
(Six Months Later)
Governor Lawrence Hanover’s office was decorated far differently than the way Governor Smythe-Douglass had kept it. The cheerful yellow lace curtains were gone; replaced by more appropriate (to Lawrence, anyway) drapes of burgundy brocade. The divan was still there, but now of a matching burgundy to the drapes rather than the poofy lilac that the previous occupant had kept. The bar was kept well-stocked and within easy access to everyone; the Governor was a heavy drinker. The painting of the gallows had been replaced with a portrait he’d brought from England painted when he was a boy; it was of he and his father, though everyone thought it was of Prince Lawrence and a younger relative, so much did he now look like his father had then. Prince Lawrence was standing at the window as he did each day, watching the ocean waves. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He knew he’d never see his father again. He sat at his desk and went over today’s work. Bored already, he walked back to the window and looked out again, opening the window to breathe the salt air. It reminded him of his father.
There was a knock at the door. “Yes?”
Commodore Gillette entered the room and poured a generous glass of rum for the Governor and a snifter of brandy for himself. The Governor turned from the window and took the glass. “Thank you, Jonathan.”
They spoke for a while of the goings on of Jamaica and the surrounding islands; of pirates and privateers; of ladies and of old friends. During this time, Loki and Ishtar bounced around their feet, tumbling all over each other.
Then Gillette noticed something odd about the way Lawrence was standing. “Lawrence, where’s your cane?”
Lawrence looked down to his empty hand and smiled gently. “Oh...yes. I suppose I lost it. I haven’t been able to find it for the last few days. I’ll have to get it replaced soon; I’ve been putting a bit too much weight on that knee without it.” He looked out the window again, seeming to ignore Gillette for a moment. “It’s his birthday, you know. He’d have been forty-four years old today. I only wish that the captain of the Freedom had listened to him. The helmsman told me that Raymond had begged them to heave to before the storm started but the captain wouldn’t listen.” He held up his glass to the painting behind his desk. “Happy Birthday, you old pirate. I truly miss you.”
Gillette raised his glass and saluted the portrait. “I too. Happy Birthday, Jack Sparrow.”
* - * - *
Captain Robert James examined the line of men attempting to become part of the Black Pearl’s crew and smiled. /Not the usual ragtag sailors to choose from. Looks like maybe even an ex-military man or two, by their bearing./ He walked up to the first man, who was near half a head taller than he. “Name and experience, sailor.”
“The name’s Tom, sir. I sailed with Cap’n Powell for six months, and before that I was a merchant sailor, sir, with the Smythe-Douglass Shipping Company.”
Robert smiled. “Sign the articles and grab yourself a billet, Tom!” He moved to the next man.
Robert kept going down the line, accepting all of the men so far, as they were all well-experienced and weren’t of a violent nature as far as he could tell. He asked the same questions of each man. Then he came to a man about his own height, his chestnut brown hair with several small, beaded braids reaching to his collar, and sporting a neat goatee. After a quick double take, Robert laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Mr. Groves, while I’m sorry to see you’ve left the navy, I’m glad to see you! Welcome aboard the Black Pearl!”
As Groves strode up the gangplank and waited at the top, Robert stared at the small man before him. Black hair tied in a short queue straight back in a tuft; it couldn’t even be to his shoulders if it weren’t tied up, and some of it hung in his face. One black eye stared out of a heart-shaped face; the other eye was covered by a patch. Trim goatee much like Groves’, and a black cane with a silver skull handle to help him stand with a left hip that appeared to have been broken and healed not quite right. There was a white ash fid hanging from his belt. Robert managed to remain stone-faced as he looked him over and asked his questions. “Name and experience, sailor.”
His voice was a mild tenor and had an Irish accent, but Robert recognized it nonetheless. “Call me Johnny, Sir. And I’ve sailed these waters for nigh on thirty years under various captains, most lately Captain Moran of the Lord’s Vein.”
Robert smiled gently. /If he wants to remain anonymous, I’ll let him. He’s been killed more times than anyone should be, though I hope this time he stays “dead”. I AM glad that he chose to come to me...but then again...I pity the poor sod who would try to keep Jack Sparrow from his Lady./ “Welcome aboard the Black Pearl...Johnny.”
* - * - *
End
A/N: Littlebird: Could you please email me at the_ferret_mom@yahoo.com? I need to offer you something!