Blood of a Pirate || Will Turner

Stranger at the Docks

The morning sun shines brightly over Port Royal, waking the reluctant town from its slumber. Women work hard to prepare breakfast for the day as men leave for their busy jobs. Children refuse to leave their beds, despite their mother's beckoning calls and animals stir and jostle together in a race for their morning meals. The streets are soon filled with overloaded carts being pulled and shoes imprinting heavily against the dirt.

In a small house next to the blacksmith's shop, a woman with locks as dark as night slowly rises out of her straw bed, letting out a tired yawn, and allowing the light to warm her chilled bones. Eyes of honey blink as they adjust to the small room around her. She looks to the window, slithers of light pouring into the room. She rolls her neck, working away the painful crick before rising to get dressed and ready to properly greet the day.

The woman's name was Milah, and she had lived with the town drunk and supposed blacksmith, Mr Brown with her best friend Will Turner for as long as she could remember.

She had been found washed up on the beaches of Port Royal when she was 11, unconscious and bleeding. Will, who was 12 at the time, had been the one to find her and nurse her back to health. During her recovery, with not much else to do, they had talked over multiple games of cards, and soon had bonded over lost pasts; Will had been taken in after his own shipwreck when he was a young lad. They had been best friends ever since.

"Mr Brown?" Milah calls as she walks inside the blacksmith's shop. The small house next door had been empty so there was no other possible place for the two men to be. "Will?" She decides to say instead knowing she would not be getting an answer from the old man; she often didn't. However, the younger man didn't answer either.

Milah's eyebrows furrow in confusion at the lack of response, her hands moving to her hips, looking around. The shop is seemingly empty, apart from their mule eating straw in the corner. The forge is burning low, embers from yesterday's fire glowing dim. The weapons are untouched on their racks and so are the sacks surrounding the shop.

It's empty.

At least that's what she thought until a low groan emits from behind three barrels to the left.

"Mr Brown!" She cries out in alarm, hurrying over to the old blacksmith, dodging the equipment in the way. The old man looks up at the sound of his name and smiles lazily at the girl in front of him. Mr Brown is a beer-bellied middle-aged man with thinning hair and a scraggly beard that clung to his cheeks, jaw and chin. In his younger days, he had been a fine blacksmith but that was before his wife and child's death pushed him to drink. He's been the town drunk ever since, drowning himself in all the liquor his big hands could grab.

"Ah, Milah!" He grins toothily at the girl, his teeth tinged yellow. Milah helps him to his feet and holds his arms still as he sways dangerously. "William said he was giving the sword to commodore Norrington," He slurs before his eyes roll and he drops, passing out from the alcohol he had consumed that night and possibly that morning. Milah catches him with a huff. She manoeuvres him to the right and drops him onto a haystack with a frustrated sigh.

This is the usual for Mr Brown, drinking himself to sleep every night and starting fresh in the morning. It's reason why the weapons and armour made at the blacksmith are only created at the hands of Will and Milah.

At least he had given her some useful information before falling into his drunken coma.

Now knowing that Will had gone up to deliver the sword to the Swans and Commodore Norrington, Milah decides to head down to the docks. She quite happily spent most of her free time there. Will often questioned the occurrence, but she could never really give him an honest answer. She didn't know herself.