The Blacksmith's Swann Princess

One: The Blacksmith's Apprentice

WILL

Ever since he was a kid, Will Turner was never remembered. He was always 'who's that wonderful little boy that served tea at the governor's house?' or 'the blacksmith's apprentice'. All he wanted was to do something amazing and be remembered for once. That whenever someone asked for a story it would be about him. That was all he ever wanted. Well, that, and a girl. He knew that sounded awfully rude, of course. Girls weren't items to take ownership of. And nor were they flowers that needed to be protected. They weren't stupid either. He was sometimes scolded for teaching the governor's daughter, Elizabeth Swann, to write. It wasn't his fault she wanted to learn. People were stupid these days.

But what Will really wanted was to be remembered, and to be treasured. So that when he had a funeral people would go. And a family. He never had a family. Well, he did, a long time ago, when he was very small. His father had died. On a ship, his mother had told him.

"Your father was an excellent swordsman. He sailed, too."

"Was he a pirate?" Will would ask.

"No, sweetie. He was a good man." His mother would answer. And then she wouldn't say anything else. She would tuck him in and kiss his forehead, and blow out the candle.

And then, when Will was thirteen, his mother died, leaving him no memory of his family. Will's island, the one he grew up on, became under siege by a group of pirates. He swore to himself he would never have any interaction with one, or, god forbid, become one.

OOO

Present day, after the Black Pearl

Will smashed the hammer on the piece of metal. He hated his life. He was a stupid orphan that no-one wanted. He was a speck of dirt on someone's shoe. He was a stupid little nobody.

"Will?" A soft voice said.

He hammered louder. If he turned his back, he would break down. In front of Elizabeth. "Stupid, dirty little no one..." He muttered to himself.

"Will?" Elizabeth repeated.

"No," Will answered. He banged his hammer now.

"Will, please..."

"No! Elizabeth, it's not going to help! It's my fault!"

"No, Will, it's not, it's not, please, Will, please, stop, for me, please, don't do this to yourself..."

"Don't you get it, Elizabeth? It IS my fault! I was stupid to trust Jack!"

"No, you weren't, Will, it wasn't your fault, you were doing it to –" Elizabeth was crying now.

"I'm sorry, okay, Elizabeth. I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you. Just leave. It's better for both of us."

"Will! That's harsh!" Elizabeth said, through sobs.

Will smashed his hammer and thrust the piece of metal into the hot cooling water. He pulled it out. Great. Nothing was going his way. He turned around and threw it. Elizabeth fled, clutching her dress.

Don't cry. He told himself. Don't cry. But he couldn't help it. The tears just kept coming. Maybe he could cry himself to sleep. It helped when he was younger. So he went into the small room at the back of the workshop, the room which he now called his own, and cried himself to sleep, on his hard bed.

He was a disaster. A homeless, stupid, disaster.