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Old October 2nd, 2007, 04:53 AM
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Stormdancer Stormdancer is offline
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Author: Copyright Auroraluna Stormdancer

Disclaimer: The character of Will Turner is an original character owned by Disney as appeared in the POTC Trilogy and played by Orlando Bloom and has only been borrowed here for a brief tale of fiction. Very brief, so don’t get your knickers in a knot over it.

Category: Original Work

Type: Drama

Rating: G

Brief Summary: Will from another’s perspective


Why can’t he see me?

I’ve tried to talk him, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.

I’ve tried to touch him, a hand on his cheek, but he doesn’t feel me.

How can he not?

Can’t you feel love that strong?

I’ve spent ages staring into those eyes, in melancholy moments when he’s still, lost in a memory, his vision far away, his thoughts hidden from the world, hidden from me.

As hidden as I am from him.

I’ve stared and he’s stared back, but he does not see me.

I pretend he thinks of me, at times like that. But I know he doesn’t.

I watch him, I drink him in, but he is unaware.

How can this be, when I am so close to him?

I can feel his energy pulsing out from him in waves, he is so alive, it is thrilling to one such as I.

I can smell him, the salty, sweaty tang of him, the leather soaked with oils, the rum, the deep musky odour of him, all combining into the being that is Will.

I watch and I stare and I follow and I feel and I smell…and he knows not.

Why do I stay when there is nothing returned?

I know why. And I know that I cannot leave him.

I love him too fiercely. And I have not told him.

And he does not know that I exist.

He can love. He does love. He loves with all his heart. Young and strong and true, and so sure of her.

I hope she is worthy of that love. And yet, the fact that he loves her so completely, makes her worthy.

Ah, but that he would look at me with love in his eyes.

He lives with passion. Every moment is filled with his movement, his energy, his love of life and I wonder at the power of him.

He lives, and yet I do not.

I wish I could move like that again. Feel life flowing through my dead veins.

Have warm flesh that I could wrap around him, feel his head upon my shoulder, those loose strands of long, salt encrusted hair between my fingers as I soothe him with my love.

What would I give for that chance?

No price would be too high.

Is that why I stay? Forever hopeful that one day…one day…

I suppose so, for Hope never dies within me.

And now, more than ever, I would ease his torment, if I could.

But again, I am powerless. I am as impotent as ever I was.

The wound to his chest is hatefully fresh, his father’s work … his father, oh the hatred I feel… but I have watched and I have learned much and I understand the way of it.

And as I would have his love, I cannot begrudge another receiving it, as I do not begrudge her.

As I do not begrudge his father.

Why does he love him so much?

How is that possible, when he knows him not?

And yet, should that not boost my weary heart?

It should…I know that it should, for he knows ME not.

Because he does not see me. He does not know me.

He does not know how deep my love for him runs.

And that is why I stay.

I follow him wherever he goes.

I watch over him.

I am a fool, for he will NEVER see me.


“Who are you?” He speaks, but we are the only two in the room.

He sits, the charts on the table hold his attention.

I wait. He has me intrigued.

And then he turns. And looks at me.

Dark eyes, dripping sorrow. Loneliness piled high.

I turn, surely there is one behind me.

“You have been watching me all day. Since I became heartless.” He looks back to his charts and laughs harshly, “I am a heartless man now. Strange how events can change your life so suddenly.”

He sees me. HE SEES ME.

My heart would pound, if it were not dead and lifeless.

“I have been watching you far longer than that.”

“Yet you don’t belong here.” He looks at me again, and I flood with joy.

He HEARS me.

“But I can take you where you need to be.” He smiles mirthlessly; the shadows deepen in those eyes. There is a new edge to his gaze, a loss of gentleness, a despair.

I would cry for him if I could; if I had tears that would flow.

“I cannot leave. Not yet.”

He looks at me with fresh eyes, seeing me, sampling my face and I sigh with pleasure.

Now he sees me fully. Does he know me? Does he see the love in my eyes?

“Why? Why do you watch? Why would you stay?”

I move closer, reaching out my hand, and he does not flinch away.

His cheek is soft, and warm and sharply angled under my fingers, the slight bristling dragging across my fingertips.

I can FEEL him.

He lets me touch him and I can see by his eyes that he feels me too.

And I smile, for I am happy.

He knows me.

“I stay to tell you of my love. So that you know it is yours. Always and forever, strong and true, no matter where I am. I have needed you to know that, for the longest time...”

And then I run my fingers through that hair and down his beautiful face, so dear to me.

“…my darling son.”

Now he sees me true and I can leave.
For now there is love in HIS eyes.
For me.

Befriend many, Trust few, Harm none.
Imagination is the Key to all Wonder
** Proud Member of the Special K Breakfast Club **

Last edited by Stormdancer; July 7th, 2008 at 10:26 AM.
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