"The sea hath no king but God alone."
— Sir Walter Raleigh (1552–1618)
Spoken by the famed English explorer and privateer — a line that captures Edward's growing defiance against authority and his yearning for freedom beyond the Crown's reach.
Port Royal, 1736 ,the Caribbean heat shimmered across the Royal Navy training yard like the breath of a furnace.
"Again!" barked Lieutenant Gillette, sweat glistening on his brow.
Edward Swann wiped his face with a torn sleeve, raised his rapier, and lunged. Metal clashed, a sharp ring filling the air as their blades crossed.
He gritted his teeth. His muscles screamed. His foot slipped in the dust—then, quick as a flash, he twisted, ducked, and grinned.
"Bit slow today, Lieutenant," he said, voice dripping with mock sympathy.
Gillette rolled his eyes. "You're insufferable."
"Thank you, I practice daily."
Gillette lunged again. Edward parried twice, feinted left, then kicked up a puff of dirt. The officer flinched and Edward disarmed him in one swift motion, blade kissing Gillette's collarbone.
There was a heartbeat of silence before Edward stepped back and bowed, theatrically.
"Victory through superior dirt management."
From the veranda, Governor Swann sighed audibly.
"Why does my son insist on turning every duel into a performance?"
Beside him, Elizabeth now fourteen and every bit as sharp as her brother clapped proudly.
"Because he enjoys winning and making it look good."
The Governor groaned. "He gets that from his mother."
After Training Edward sat beneath a palm tree near the docks, tunic open, a thin scar running down his arm from a recent sparring mishap. The harbor glittered in the sunlight, waves slapping lazily against the piers.
He leaned back, biting into a mango he'd snatched from a passing crate, and muttered around a mouthful,
"You know, for a military port, this place is terribly easy to rob."
"Master Swann," came a familiar voice — a young sailor, red-haired and freckled, smirking as he approached. "You've got some nerve sayin' that out loud."
Edward grinned. "Relax, Jacob. If the Navy can't catch me stealing fruit, they won't last long against pirates."
The sailor chuckled. "You and them pirates, sir. You talk more like one every year."
"Only the clever ones," Edward said with a wink.
Edward had spent years earning his skill the hard way not through privilege, but through sheer stubbornness. He trained before dawn, learned from every sailor who'd tolerate him, and paid attention when others ignored.
He was a noble by name but a seaman by heart.
And while he trained under the Navy's flag, he spent his nights in the taverns — learning the rhythms of the men who actually lived the sea.
He bought drinks for smugglers. Played cards with retired privateers. Listened to the tales of the Spanish Main until his imagination burned brighter than the rum lamps.
When questioned about his "choice of company," Edward had a simple answer:
"You can't learn to command men you don't understand, Father."
Governor Swann had nearly fainted when he first saw his son arm-wrestling a dockhand, laughing like a common sailor.
LaterThatEvening the elder Swann set down his quill. "Edward, your behavior—"
"is charming and educational?" Edward interrupted, grinning.
"is unbecoming of a future officer," his father finished sharply. "You have status. Expectations."
Edward leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "And yet, Father, all the status in the world won't stop a storm. I'd rather know how to sail than how to bow."
"You were born to lead men of honor," the Governor said.
"Then I'll be sure to meet some someday."
"Edward!"
He smiled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Only teasing, Father. Mostly."
Despite himself, the Governor's lips twitched. He'd long since learned that Edward's wit was as sharp as his blade — and twice as dangerous when used cleverly.
"You've your mother's charm," he muttered.
"And your patience," Edward replied smoothly. "That's why we're both still alive."
Later that night, Edward leaned against the doorframe, watching his sister brush her hair.
"You've been quiet lately," he said softly.
Elizabeth turned, her expression thoughtful. "Sometimes I wonder what's out there beyond the horizon."
"Danger," Edward said immediately. Then, smiling, "and adventure, if you're lucky."
She frowned. "Father says adventure is a word men use when they mean trouble."
"Father says that because he's never been truly bored," Edward replied. "You can't cage your heart, Lizzie. Not forever."
She smiled faintly. "So what about you? You've got everything title, training, respect. Why chase pirates?"
He leaned against the window, gazing out at the moonlit sea. "Because they don't bow to anyone. Because they live as they choose. And because someone has to make sure the legends don't die with the men who dream them."
She tilted her head. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"As death," he said with a grin. "Though I prefer not to make their acquaintance too soon."
Elizabeth laughed the soft, bright sound of a girl who still believed the world could be kind. Edward smiled, committing the sound to memory.
When Elizabeth had gone to bed, Edward sat alone by the window, rolling the Aztec gold medallion between his fingers.
He'd taken it years ago, when they rescued young Will Turner. Elizabeth had forgotten it; he never had.
The coin glimmered faintly, its skull grinning up at him as if aware of the fate it carried.
He whispered, "You brought ruin to so many, didn't you? Let's see if I can do better."
He tucked it back beneath his shirt, resting against his heart.
A small commotion stirred near the Navy barracks. Edward and Lieutenant Gillette were observing recruits drill when a sailor suddenly shouted, "Loose cannon! She's rolling!"
Without hesitation, Edward sprinted across the deck as the massive iron gun slipped its restraints and began to lurch toward the harbor.
"Jacob, the ropes!" he shouted.
The sailor fumbled. The cannon tilted dangerously.
Edward leapt forward, slammed his shoulder into the wheel chock, and grunted through the pain. "You lazy bastards, move!"
They heaved the cannon back just in time to stop it from plunging into the water — or crushing half the recruits.
The men cheered. Edward straightened, panting, a crooked grin splitting his face.
"Well," he said, dusting off his coat, "if the Navy ever needs a doorstop, I'm apparently qualified."
Gillette shook his head, trying not to smile. "You're impossible."
Edward winked. "And yet, still employed."
The waves crashed gently against the shore as Edward stood at the cliffs, the medallion cold in his hand.
He felt the weight of destiny pressing upon him not as a curse, but a promise.
Someday soon, the Black Pearl would come.
Someday, Jack Sparrow would step into his life.
And when that day arrived, he would be ready not as a sheltered noble, but as a man forged by sweat, laughter, and love.
He turned toward the lights of the mansion, where Elizabeth's laughter echoed faintly from an open window.
"I'll keep you safe, Lizzie," he murmured. "Even if it means becoming the very thing Father fears."
The medallion gleamed in the moonlight, and the tide whispered in reply as if the sea itself had heard his vow.
Thus the legend began not with conquest, but with a brother's love, a pirate's heart, and the laughter of a boy who dreamed too big for the Empire to contain.