Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Gone

They were all gone. She stood gazing at the wild Irish landscape without seeing it, her vision blurred by tears.

Her father had been first, gone out in a blaze of glory, pistols still smoking as his heart had stopped. A fitting end for a pirate of his reputation, they'd said. It was how he'd have wanted it, they said. It didn't make the grief any easier for the family to bear.

Her mother hadn't been the same afterwards. She'd lost her free spirit and temper, something inside her irreparably damaged by the loss of her husband. Death had come peacefully for her, in bed surrounded by the family she'd loved so fiercely.

The most shocking loss had been her older brother. He'd always been in and out of prisons, walking with an imaginary noose around his neck, cheating death for most of his adult life, so the delivery of his final letter, leaving his beloved Pearl and everything else to her, had come as the most unpleasant surprise she'd ever received.

Her godmothers was the one she tried hardest to forget. Unable to deal with what she regarded as her failures, she'd finally succeeded in doing what she'd first attempted to do at seventeen. The image, her greying auburn hair mingling with the pool of blood, haunted her goddaughter's dreams; the bloody knives mocking her own identical choice of weapon.

Her tears fell, and a scream left her throat as she stood looking out at the harbour, where all the ships still remained.

The Misty Lady's figurehead caught her attention first, the female carving looking every bit as proud and strong as the ship's late captain.

The Troubadour's sleek, elegant lines and imposing aura were so reminiscent of the man who'd sailed her; an outlaw with an aristocratic bearing and a heart of gold under his ruthless facade.

One black sail of the next ship had come loose of the ropes furling it, and it waved gently, as though in mourning for its captain.

Three ships, four including her own, the makings of a very fine fleet including the fastest vessel in the Caribbean.

She'd trade the lot of them in a heartbeat if it would bring her family back. She would trade anything in the world if it would bring back the four people she loved most.

Her hand crept to her throat, fingering the heavy silver ring that hung from a chain there. It didn't fit her finger, and she flatly refused to alter it. Pulling it out from under her waistcoat, she brought the skull to her lips and kissed it.

"I never wanted a title like this," she whispered, her voice lost in the wind.
"It was never supposed to be me. But, I'm the only one now. I hope I can make ye proud Dad, wherever ye are. I know ye an' Mum are watchin' me, and it'll be Soracha's voice I hear in my head when I do somethin' particularly stupid, an' Jackie's laughter and commentary in meetings, like we used to do on the balcony as wains."

She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. Sweeping her dark, windblown hair out of her face, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

"I am Captain Rowan Teague, daughter of Edward Teague and Roxanne Sparrow. Keeper of the Pirate Code."

Her voice carried, and she felt bolder.

She glanced at herself. She was carrying something from each of her loved ones.

The Keeper's ring, and the green bandana she used to keep her hair back had come from her father.

The worn leather scabbards for her knives had been her godmothers.

A flowing, faded black sash encircled her waist, just as it had once hugged her mother's hips.

Lastly, swinging gently from her belt, was her brother's compass.

"Points to the thing you want most, Ro. Keep it safe for me, maybe it'll bring you happiness."

She appreciated his gesture, but knew the compass couldn't bring her happiness.

The only things she wanted were gone forever.