Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Last Goodbyes (Part 2)

The hanging was taking place at dawn.

Despite the early hour, a crowd of people had gathered at the gallows. It was public, after all, and many of London's aristocracy were keen to witness the end of a prominent figure in piracy.

The red uniforms of the Navy stood out among the multitude of colours of men's suits and ladies dresses, silver rifles glinting in the slowly rising sun.

Commoners too, mingled in the throng, some carrying stones or rotten fruit.

Finally, the steady beat of a drum announced the beginning of the end, as a figure was escorted in manacles out of the prison.

In spite of his situation, Edward Teague walked between two jailers with a quiet air of authority, a slightly battered feathered hat crowning his head. His eyes swept the crowd once, twice, a steely defiance in his dark gaze.

The hum of the crowds jeers and laughter became steadily louder with every step he took towards the gallows. A rotten tomato burst on the cobblestones at his feet, which he completely ignored.

Finally, two people in the crowd caught his attention, standing together, staring directly at him. He felt his stomach twist painfully.

Neither woman was crying, but their grief was intense and plainly visible.
Soracha was clothed in a simple dress, her auburn hair loose, looking like any other commoner in the crowd. Her arms were crossed, hugging herself as though trying to physically hold her emotions in check. She was chewing her bottom lip.

Roxanne stood straight-backed, her head high. Her hands, hidden in white gloves, were clasped tightly at her abdomen. A wave of hair had escaped her pins, brushing gently against the thin scar on her left cheek. Her eyes met his directly and he held her gaze before the moment was shattered.

A gunshot had broken the look, just before he began to climb the gallows steps.

Teague stumbled slightly, blood appearing on his thigh. Soracha moved forward, but stopped when Roxanne seized her wrist.

"Don't," she hissed. "They'll string you alongside him."

"I don't give a shite!" Soracha snapped softly, venom lacing her words as she tried to free herself, desperation plain in her face.

Roxanne kept holding her firmly.
"Soracha," she said, her voice breaking, "don't make me lose someone else I care about today."

Soracha's retort was cut off by clapping and whistles as Teague slowly climbed the steps to the gallows.

Realising she could blow her cover, Roxanne forced herself to clap, though she felt like someone was twisting a knife in her gut as she watched her husband hobbling to a noose, roughly shoved forward by the guard escorting him.

She didn't hear what the executioner said to him. She didn't hear what he said in response. All she heard was the people around her jeering at the man she loved, because they believed him to be a criminal, a murderer, a thief, a heartless, cold, cruel shell of a man.

But, while it was certainly true he had his faults, and that his temper was legendary among pirates for good reason, Roxanne knew he didn't deserve all the accusations the rowdy crowd were throwing at him.

Soracha's hands were twitching restlessly as the word "kidnapper" left the lips of a young man in front of them, the word hurled at the gallows along with a bruised apple.

"This is killin' me," she muttered so only Roxanne could hear. "All the times he saved me, an' now I'm stuck listenin' to a mob abusin' him before he dies and I can't fucking do anything."
Her voice broke and a few tears fell.

Roxanne laid a hand softly on Soracha's back, the only comfort she could manage.

Teague's head was still high, though he had shifted his stance slightly to keep weight off his injured leg.

The executioner spoke again, his voice carrying over the crowds babble. "Do you," he said, addressing Teague, "have any last words?"

A stony silence and heavy glare from the condemned answered his question.

Roxanne wondered if he'd spoken at all during his last hours before the hanging or if his "I love you, Asthore," had been the last words he'd said. She replayed those four words in her head, words she'd heard a million times during their years together.

Asthore. The Gaelic word for "treasure", which he had called her as a term of endearment, a loving nickname he addressed her by more often than her given name.

The noose was slipped over his head.

The executioner stepped up to the lever with the detached air of someone who had done this a thousand times.

Soracha was as tense as a coiled spring beside her. Roxanne knew what she was waiting for.

The lever was pulled.

The floor of the gallows opened below Teague's feet.

There was a crack. His body jerked, then stilled, swinging gently from the rope.

Soracha relaxed, wiping her eyes, while Roxanne turned away, muttering, "excuse me," while hurrying through the crowd.

She darted into an alley and sank to the floor, back against the wall as she started to cry.

The crack, his neck breaking, was a sound she knew she would never forget. It had the same finality as a gunshot, marking the extinguishing of a life.

The life of the man she loved.

The man she would now have to live without.