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Yes, I am still alive. And lately, I've even been writing. I'll make a separate post detailing a little further what I've been up to for the last four months...dear god, has it been that long?? FOr now I will just say that it was a combination of broken laptop, depression, lack of work, and repeated setbacks of my goals that have removed my presence from LJ. And cyber life in general, and sometimes even my real life lacks my participation. At any rate, here is a chapter I just finished, and I sincerely hope and pray it will not take me even half as long, to put up another one. Take care, anyone who is still reading!


Title: Immortal Beloved: Consequences
Author: Soleil Compeau
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Jack/OFC
Rating: NC17 for sex, violence, and death
Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow and other POTC characters are not mine to use for profit in any way whatsoever. I do this out of love and for entertainment purposes only. Sarah Margita is my exclusive creation and no one but I have rights to her.
Summary: Jack lived a life of adventure and peril, until his death. Then he was resurrected, and had a chance at a different sort of life, one no less exciting.

Author's Notes: Please remember that in this time period, the average life span was something like fifty years. You were considered quite long-lived in your sixties. Also, disease was rampant, with common illnesses being cancer, severe influenza, consumption, malaria, smallpox, and syphilis. A lot of women also died in childbirth. Jack and Sarah are remarkably healthy people, particularly for pirates.


Chapter 23 - The Last Adventures

If someone were to tell Jack that his ‘glory days’ were behind him, he would have been very surprised. Life seemed to him very sweet indeed. He and Sarah continued to discover new facets of returning from long retirement to making a living once again at sea, and despite the occasional danger, it was an exhilarating education. The great battle long ago, with Davy Jones and Cutler Beckett, had effectively crippled piracy, and it was now drawing its last gasps.

Military ships were picking off outlaw vessels left and right. Not to mention building newer ships; Jack sometimes found that those newer designs could match the Pearl, and only his cleverness at handling her and his years of experience effected his escapes. Being quite wealthy, Jack of course had no real need to pirate. He did it for the pure joy and the thrill of danger.

They and the well-known crew of the mighty black galleon ranged far and wide, porting wherever they were not fired upon. In New Orleans, Jack sat in a dark smoky room, armed to the teeth though no weapon showed, and watched as his wife played poker with several cutthroats. She was dressed, scantily, as a prostitute. In spite of, or possibly because of the silver streaks in her hair, she was even more alluring than usual. The cutthroats were losing badly due to being terribly distracted.

“That’s another thousand, gents. I believe the expression is, ‘Ante up’?”

Grumbling, the gents dug into various pockets and purses to give her the expected payment. “You play like a woman with three hands,” one remarked.

“Or five aces,” another growled, not so politely. Jack tensed, and moved one hand closer to where a weapon lay snug against his body.

Sarah laughed throatily. “But where would I put a fifth ace, or a third hand, gentlemen? Deal again, if it pleases you.”

After raking in a fair bit of money, she rose and bade goodbye to her companions, then sashayed away while all their eyes were on her swaying posterior. Jack had already slipped unnoticed away when she began gathering up her winnings.

Making slight alterations to his appearance and ditching about half the weaponry by wrapping it in his coat and hiding it carefully, Jack pulled his hair back into a respectable ponytail and adjusted his hat. He stole a waistcoat from the laundry line of a schoolteacher, and strolled casually through the public square.

Meanwhile, the sore losers of a very profitable game of cards had no intention of letting their ill gotten money walk away with a tart, no matter how comely and enticing the tart might be. In fact, her very attractiveness would provide a pleasant aftermath to the satisfaction of beating their coin out of her hands and back into theirs. Sarah recognized this, and hurried. She selected the washing of a convent near a Quaker church, and shortly the respectable dark haired man observed a proper Quaker lady hurrying along the main street.

A constable approached her just as he got near. “Excuse me! Ma’am, you haven’t by anything untoward tonight, have you? I’ve gotten reports of a wench who stole a large sum of money from some sailors, tonight. Turns out they’ve a weakness for gambling, turned a new leaf and all, but she tempted them, then swindled them.”

Sarah snorted as if truly affronted. “May God help the poor wench then. Such conniving females will be punished by the Almighty for their forwardness, they will! Any road that leads to their sinful dens of iniquity lead to Hell itself!”

The constable eyed her. “And what might a proper Quakeress like you be doing out so late in the evening, and without a protector to escort you?”

“An errand of mercy. A woman pregnant out of wedlock, her time’s upon her. May God have mercy on her poor bastard baby!” Real emotion colored Sarah’s voice now; her own beloved children were called ‘bastards’ because of a completely unlawful marriage to an outlaw. Fortunately, Sarah rested secure in the knowledge that she and Jack were married in the eyes of God.

The constable nodded respectfully and let her pass. She looked unobtrusively around for Jack and didn’t see him anywhere. Cursing under her breath, she sought him; in the shadows behind the taverns, in an alley where she interrupted a sailor and a wench dressed in even less that what she’d been wearing earlier, and in a root cellar left carelessly open. But it was not until she looked for him under the footbridge that she found him, and his original coat, and her scanty wench’s clothes with the whole kit and boodle wrapped inside it. Giggling, they brought the booty home.

Weeks later, they wandered through the mystic markets of the dark coast of Nigeria, Africa. Among the displays of corpulent, featureless goddess figures Sarah saw something on the back edge of the table. It was bright even in the dim light of the shelter, and lying on it’s side unlike the fertility images which were all upright. Reaching for it, Sarah nestled the figurine in the palm of her hand. It was carved of ivory, depicting a male, quite realistically and graphically so in fact. Two tiny sapphires served as eyes, and some kind of material that represented hair gleamed gold and green.

“Jack, look.” She beckoned him from across the tent to see. “See the incomplete fingers and toes…it could indicate webbing if you consider the marks here that could mean gills. There’s also a fin on its back. It’s a sea man!”

The huckster noticed what she was holding and began jabbering at her, waving his arms in obvious consternation. He took the figure from Sarah despite her reluctance. “It’s not for sale, I see,” in disgruntlement.

Chuckling, her husband translated what the man was saying. “’It is Orungan. It is sacred.’ Seems it fell out of his clothes by accident when he was setting up his tables, bit o’Sarah. Not for sale indeed.” The huckster tucked the figurine carefully back into a fold of his robes, looking both relieved and rather frightened at nearly losing it.

“Orungan?” she inquired, brow creased in query.

“One of their gods,” Jack shrugged. His mind was occupied by the acquisition of an item he thought Sarah might enjoy possessing. Truth be told, he was rather excited himself to be owning the object in question, which was not common on the shores they’d frequented during their children’s childhood. Later, in the cozy privacy of their cabin, he presented it to her.

“Jack! That thing’s twice as big as you!” she exclaimed, eyes wide.

Jack examined the extremely lifelike carven ivory with a smirk. “Well length wise, certainly, but it can’t possibly match me in girth.” He paused, glanced down at his breeches and wrinkled his brow in thought before amending, “Well, can’t exceed me at any rate.”

He pushed her flat on the bed. “Just trust me, darling bit. You’ll enjoy my efforts,” in what was perhaps not an entirely soothing tone, for wicked intent dripped from his words.

“Shall not!” Sarah cried, squirming away with a peal of laughter.

“I am captain here!” Jack retorted with affronted dignity.

“Ah…and I am the baud who must obey?” Sarah’s eyes acquired a wicked glint in their turn. “Very well, I shall be most accommodating to my lord’s wishes, provided I am promised a turn with a submissive slave at some future time! Yes?”

Heat filled his body at the promise of complete obedience from her; in a game they had only sometimes played, he instantly assumed a masterful role. “Very good darling. Now hoist your dainty feet, I’ll be wanting your limbs suspended over your head for my ‘masterful turn’.”

In carnal matters, it took Jack a long to get started, and Sarah a long time to finish. Yet they enjoyed themselves greatly. Jack had learned that an erection was a very useful thing in pleasing her, yet not strictly necessary. Sarah considered it a great compliment when he did not have one, and still wished to make love to her.

On the frigid shores of Siberia, Jack traded some of his plunder for furs, and dressed Sarah warmly in white wolf. The placid face looked so sweet peeking out from the pile of expensive furs around her, that Jack could not resist kissing it, and making her cheeks even rosier.

The large brutes Jack had just done business with laughed, and spoke in their strange, flowing language. Jack answered back, laughing. One of the men leaned forward and spoke strange words to Sarah. She shook her head, bemused, and Jack gently drew her away from the men with a smile. He talked a few more minutes, then drew his Siberian tiger fur more closely over his shoulders. They departed with smiles and waves of the hand, for warmer waters.

The anniversary of their parting from security on land rolled round, and found them carousing on a lush tropical island. Nectar of the gods flowed freely, along with selections of fine wine down to coarse grog that kicked like an evil mule. There was no sign of their offspring for nearly half the day. They discussed it over more to drink, with inebriating results.

A ship loomed on the leeward side of the small island, and launched two loaded boats. A scalawag pirate stepped from the lead one and immediately began searching, hand on his cutlass and a long wicked looking dagger in his fist. After a few moments he came upon the slight woman half-conscious under a tree.

With the toe of his boot he rolled her over. Sarah blinked and grinned idiotically up into his face, completely helpless in her stupor. “Where is he?” the well-muscled man asked quietly. She rolled her eyes to indicate a prone figure in the surf.

On soft feet he crept up to the older man. First he prodded the figure with his knife hilt, then rolled him over with a cautious hand, only to be met by a calmly grinning face and the barrel of a pistol. Recognition showed in Jack’s eyes. “Oh, it’s you!” he greeted his son.

Teague straightened up, looking chagrined. “Good ploy, father.”

“You don’t think I’d leave her, or myself for that matter, unprotected do you?” he answered with scorn, getting to his feet and holstering his pistol. He walked with ungainly drunken gait after John Teague.

“Maria’s ship is coming,” the boy observed, halting on the beach where he’d landed. “And I’ve a surprise for you, Father, Mama.” With pardonable pride he gestured to two who’d accompanied his boat, who stepped forward bearing precious burdens.

Jack and Sarah gazed with surprise upon the ladies. One was obviously of Asian descent, with alabaster skin and dark almond eyes. Upon her arm, surveying the paternal grandparents with a regal air, resided a veritable china doll of a girl. She was of an age to be able to talk, and high intelligence showed in the glance from Jack and Sarah’s faces towards her father.

Even more astonishing was the other female, who seemed totally at ease with her Asian counterpart, and held an infant. She was blonde and buxom in the German style, but the infant had curling dark hair and an elfish chin and nose that marked him more clearly than the proud papa’s manner as he presented his wives and his offspring.

Wonder filled Jack at the sight of his grandchildren. A delighted smile crossed his face; Sarah had already moved forward and was cooing over the baby boy, leaving the dainty Oriental princess to Jack. She consented to set astride his shoulders with an air of great dignity, but Jack soon had her giggling and shrieking with laughter, clutching handfuls of his hair as he gamboled with her as easily as if he were a tot again himself.

Maria’s ship came soon after, bearing both the Sparrow daughters. Jacqueline clearly thrived managing the smuggling business left her by her mother, for she came dressed in fine silks and a new maturity in her young face. Such good times they had, such games, such adventures! Merriment ruled the island as three shiploads of sailors and the reunited Sparrow family indulged as freely as they liked.

Half the night was gone before two figures slipped away and found a secluded place deep in a grove of palm trees. And there the goddess Ratri, with her dark and unbearable beauty, called to her god Krishna*, and they worshipped each other until dawn came creeping golden and warm over their entwined bodies.

*A reference to a novel called Lord of Light, by Roger Zelazny, about a world patterned after Hindu mythology. The people who had become 'gods' could take on an Aspect and raise up an Attribute. Thus, Sarah is Ratri the Goddess of the Night, whose radiance drives out the night. And Jack is Lord Krishna, whose Attribute in the novel is divine drunkenness and lechery. But it’s also said that when sober, he is one of the deadliest fighters alive.
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