Taming A Dragon

Author: Pilgrim
Title: Taming A Dragon
Rating: NC-17 by the end possibly sooner depends on the story progresses
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the PotC characters or movies (unfortunately); anything you recognize isn’t mine although that shouldn’t be much in this fan fiction.
Feedback: Please! First time fan fiction writer and desperate for tips, tricks, advice, stuff me full of info please! I want to improve and take over the world with my genius mwhahaha! Lol, only kidding but feedback would be fantastic, send it to raukarwen_deomene@yahoo.com!
Notes: So far unread, so really need feedback on it.

Chapter 2 - Regrets

After several hours of wandering the streets Jack had grown bored, the first place his feet had taken him to was the harbour, clearly they had been slightly drunk and forgotten that there was nothing for them there. For the first time in his life Jack no longer trusted his feet, they had always led him safely from the port to wherever he needed to go and then back to the port. Now there was no advantage or point in going to the port, they were lost and his brain had to become involved in the process of walking once more. Course that meant he was now completely and utterly lost in the middle of a city where every red coat alive was baying for his blood.

He had passed nearly ten patrols and not been recognised but he knew it was only a matter of time before his luck ended; after all he was no longer under the protection of his ocean. How it beckoned him, its’ waves roaring his name against the rocks, it’s scent floating down every street like fingers seeking purchase on him, to lead him back. Just like the prodigal son, he knew he would return to her beckoning, full of land sins and waiting for her blessing once more.

Jack sighed wearily, he had no where to sleep that night and no food to soothe the grumble in his belly or water or wine to quench that aching thirst. He hadn’t a penny to his name and it felt so strange, he had never been wealthy in his profession, he could have been had he not enjoyed the luxuries of expensive fitted clothes and good food. Material things that he realised meant nothing in the long term, especially now.

Jack glanced up realising he had stopped walking of his feet’s accord; his eyes were met with the dying sun, so symbolic at that moment in time. One day dies and another begins, his life had just ended, the sun set on his career and was rising on the murky possibilities of the future. Stood barely a foot from the edge of a cliff behind a tavern he gazed out over the ocean his arms folded about his chest tightly as the chill breeze stirred his wayward hair and plucked mockingly at the creamy shirt.

Slowly he sank to the ground and leaned back against the tavern to watch the sun set, it did so slowly giving him a pyrotechnic display of vibrant gold’s, crimsons and pure white light. Exhaustion claimed him swiftly as night fell and wrapped him in a cool velvet smooth ebony blanket.

:/

Stiffly Jack rolled onto his back and placed an arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight filtering through the curtains. He frowned wondering why the curtains were open anyway; he always had his door locked. An anvil landed in his head as realisation dawned and he sat bolt upright, the back of the tavern greeted him, cheerfully glaring its’ white wash against the Caribbean sun.

A sigh escaped his lips again and he leaned back to think through his plan of action. Firstly he needed to get off this island and either onto another or onto a ship. Secondly… his thoughts were disrupted by the cheerful twittering of a pair of sparrows that suddenly flitted out from the eaves of the tavern and began an acrobatically advanced display of air flight prowess. He sat in silence and watched them as they twirled and danced to a song only they could hear.

Jack wished he could hear the song that gave them such joy, such inspiration to weave such intricate patterns out of nothing more than air and silence. How he longed to be like them, free and wild. Loose to carve his own path through the world like they did through air, changing the winds to their advantage rather than letting it blow them where it would.

After several minutes they disappeared back into the eaves. With a thoughtful frown Jack scrambled to his feet and headed back onto the streets, if he hadn’t looked rough before he knew he did now. Grass clumps were embedded in his boots, his trousers and had left their stains on his shirt, he also smelled of various scents he was not used to. With a scowl he let his feet take the lead and arrived promptly at the harbour where a few ships were making berth and crates were being packed onto those already there.

His belly grumbled in annoyance and made up his mind for him to get a job on a crew, lousy pay and lousy food but they were at least present and it was better than facing the noose or starvation. He leaned back against a barrel trying desperately to look like a naturally cool man ready to take anything. It must have worked as, much to Jacks’ surprise, a man approached him off one of the newly arrived ships.

“You sailor, how many years behind the mast?” Jack blinked in surprise and glanced backwards checking the man was talking to him before shrugging and answering.

“Best part of eight.” The man nodded thoughtfully.

“What positions?” Jack frowned, he was pretty sure the man wouldn’t believe him if he said Captain or rather, might not be so inclined to take another Captain on board. He swiftly adopted the second best.

“First Mate for two years and the rest as various.” The man nodded and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“What’s your name?” Jack grinned.

“Jack… Sparrow.” The man slowly took the information in before holding out a hand.

“Welcome to the Nautilus, Jack Sparrow. You can be a deck hand till we see your… qualities… proven in the flesh.” Jack grasped the others hand tightly and shook it vigorously.

“Thank ya kindly sir.” The man nodded and strode past.

“Go to Jacob, he’ll give you some coins for a hammock.” Jack nodded with a grin and headed up to the ships’ deck. His grin quickly faded, the ship was no where near as grand as the Wicked Wench and the crew no where near as tidy. Ropes littered the deck, absently abandoned from their last use, bits of rubble punctuated the decks’ unlevel surface and some of the planks looked far from secure. A man emerged from the crews’ quarters counting out several coins in his palm; he glanced up and spotted Jack.

“You the new deck hand lad?” Jack smiled pleasantly and nodded.

“Aye, apparently so.” The man chuckled.

“Suppose you’ll be needing a new hammock then?” Jack nodded again and held out a hand, expecting a few coins to be dropped into it.

“We got a couple down below; sure you can patch one of those up.” The man tossed a thumb over his shoulder absently and brushed past him still counting the money in his palm. Jack raised a finger to question but chose against it when he realised there was no way he was going to get any money off the man unless he wrestled it from him. That was a tempting notion… he shook his head with a grin and headed down the stairs in search of the all allusive hammocks.

:/

After nearly an hour of searching he found a heap of old sacks which on closer inspection were old hammocks sewn together because they had fallen or been sliced apart. Jack cursed heartily and sank onto his haunches to study the pile and seek out the most likely candidates for a new hammock. Several minutes of sifting left him with the moth eaten half of one and the suspiciously stained half of another and an interlinking piece that looked just as suspiciously like a piece of old shirt and not a hammock at all.

Still, he shrugged, beggars couldn’t be choosers, picking up the ‘choice’ pieces he made his way back up deck and sought out something with which to join the pieces together. Treading along the deck he came across a thin bone used for mending the sails and with a grin he sank onto a barrel and began to sharpen the edges of it to puncture the thin material of the various pieces of hammock and shirt.

After another hour the pieces were roped together with chunks of random rope which often didn’t go the full width of the material and Jack was fairly sure it was now too short for him to lie in comfortably but none the less it was a place to sleep which was better than what he had been ‘forced’ to endure last night. With a satisfied grin he threw the material over his shoulder and headed down to the crews quarters to hang it.

He had barely finished tying the knots when the shouts went up that the ship was departing, he turned and jogged up top to watch the scene of his demise fade away beneath the ocean on the horizon. His heart soared; he was back on the ocean, back in freedom and yet there was no elation like he had once felt, no zest, no… whatever it was that had enticed him before. A feeling no words could explain, just… there and now… not.

:/

By the time he had been on the ship for a month Jack was sorely regretting his decision to accept the mans’ offer of a post. He had been worked to the bone, his fingers were no longer smooth and untarnished but made rough by salt encrusted ropes, leather hilts of swords from hours of practice and the occasional scrap that broke out and desperate clinging to wooden railings in rough weather.

His usually slender frame had shrunk to barely a shadow of his former self; granted muscles had developed in place of the loss of extra body weight. The food was unbearable, maggoty salted meats, stale biscuits and mouldy bread, nothing like the fresh supplies they had brought aboard the Wicked Wench regularly and the portions were barely a quarter of that.

All in all, he was beginning to wonder if he had been wise to refuse to transport slaves, then he was reminded by that woman, tearfully thankful. He only remembered that one, all of them had been tearful but that one… she reminded him of Fazul, she had had the same eyes, the same quirk to her lips as she grinned.

In his reminiscing he missed his grasp on the rope and watched as the sails snapped loose, the rope flicking over the deck like a violent cats’ tail. One man howled as it smacked him across his rear and another dived to the floor to avoid losing an eye spilling a bucket of dirty water. Jack winced and began to chase the wayward rope shouting ‘sorry’s and ‘pardon me’s as he danced with it through the crew till it eventually got itself tangled in the railings. A hand slammed onto his shoulder as he finished tying it off.

“Care to tell why that happened?” Jack avoided the Captains’ gaze; he hated answering to other people.

“Got distracted, sorry Captain.” The mans grasp tightened on his arm.

“You will be if that happens again my lad, you will be. Mark my words.” Jack nodded and headed down to his make-shift hammock as night began to fall. Wearied from the days’ labour he clambered in and spread his legs to dangle either side of the other end, he had been right, the hammock was nearly two foot too short. Dragging a blanket he had won off another sailor in a game of chance over himself he readied himself for sleep. One eye opened as a slow ripping sound began to issue from underneath him and he felt the shirt material begin to give way. Before he could clamber out it gave way completely with a sudden tear.

“Whoa!” His back end disappeared through the hole leaving just his arms and legs sticking out like some kind of mutant hermit crab that sought its’ home in torn hammocks. He wriggled slightly hoping to get the rest of the way through but the material decided against it and gripped him tighter. With a heavy sigh he glanced about, the rest of the crew was fast sleep in varying stages of drunken stupors and he wasn’t altogether sure if they would actually help him or just laugh at him if he chose to wake one.

Erring against the laughter he wriggled again and felt the material give slightly, with a triumphant grin he wriggled a bit more until he was deposited with another ripping sound unceremoniously on the floor. Picking himself up from under the scraps of shredded material he surveyed the damage. There was no use in repairing the various pieces as they totalled close to fifty in fluttering segments like some giant material maw laughing at his misfortune. He scratched his head thoughtfully and surveyed the crew surrounding him; picking out his snoring victim Jack put all his strength into turning the hammock over.

The crew man rolled onto the ground with a barely muffled grunt of discomfort, Jack waited till the mans drunken snores ensued before taking down the hammock and replacing it with his own tattered one. He grinned as he snuggled into the much larger hammock and settled down for the night, occasionally, just occasionally, pirating had its’ perks.