halonoir1

Sun, 23 Dec 2007 18:15:13 GMT

Hi there,
Posting to wish you all a Merry Christmas, and to apologise for being so absent recently!
I do, however, bring a peace offering. I whipped this up in 15 mins so apologies for typos/errors/general crapness.
Title: Constancy
Characters: Elizabeth/Norrington
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Words: 500ish
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Elizabeth is shadowed by her memories. Can be seen as a sequel/continuation of Haunting.
Please R&R, encourage me to get back into the habit of posting and writing!

Elizabeth stands at the parapet, feeling the wind whip through her long hair. She has not been here since she broke the heart of the man who loved her.

There are heavy footsteps behind her. She does not turn, already knowing who it will be – they have danced this dance before. The footsteps stop and she looks away from the tumbling ocean, to the stones of the fort. She is afraid to look upon him, for what state could he be in? And what would he think of her after all these years? She is no longer the youthful beauty that he remembers.

A movement catches her eye and she turns to see her son playing, running past an archway. She glimpses him only fleetingly before he is gone. The man speaks at last.

“He looks so like you.” The deep tone resonates through her, stirring the heart she thought had long grown cold.

“I know. There is nothing of Will in him.”

“Dare I ask: where is his father now?”

“He was lost to me. Long ago.” She answers forlornly, she will not name him.

“I am sorry.” He apologises, softly.

She reaches a hand out to him, still refusing to look at him. She fears to see him again, not knowing whether her heart could take the pain.

“It could never have been your fault. You gave me the best you could.” She says, as she feels his large hands take her small one. She leans back into him, savouring the solidness of his form.

A minute or two passes as the two watch the pink and tangerine sunset over the vast stretch of water. When the light begins to fade, she knows she must fetch her son and retire home. It is with a sigh that she tells him what she longs to.

“I have missed you, you know that?” There is a comfortable beat of silence before he answers.

“I know. It seems absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.” There is a smile in his voice, she knows, but it will be one of those tight smiles that do not reach the sea of his eyes.

She remarks, tongue in cheek, “So it would seem.”

The light has begun to fade and she has a long walk home. She hears her son calling for her now. She steps away from the dreamlike embrace and bids the man farewell.

She turns, and there is no one there. It is a sad, but familiar scene – the empty space in her life, for which there were once so many contenders.

She walks towards the centre of the fort, towards her son’s voice. She throws one look back towards the fateful parapet and thinks for a moment that she sees a handsome officer, clattering over the cobbles smiling at the woman he love. But it can only be memories, memories of a life she once knew.

“I do love you, James. I realise it now.” She calls, unashamed. She picks up her son’s hand and begins the long journey home. A voice in the wind seems to murmur into her hair.

“And, I will always love you, in my unwavering, constancy.”

Mon, 27 Aug 2007 20:37:28 GMT

It has indeed been a long, loooong time coming, but at last, I am proud to reveal the eleventh, and longest (so far), chapter! I realise that most of you have probably totally forgotten all about my little series - with such great series such as naja_nivea's "Stages of Marriage" it would be hard not to! - I almost had! So, I have put the other ten chapters of the story so far on my journal:

Chapters One to Five can be found HERE
Chapters Six to Ten can be found THERE

Without (much) further ado:

Title: Transformation (Chapter Eleven)
Summary: Elizabeth and Groves confront their differences - for James' sake if not theirs.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine
Characters: Only those I just mentioned

Elizabeth stormed out of the room with a barely restrained screech and a slam of the door. Wincing, James made as if to follow her but decided against it – she was liable to kill him in one of her infamous rages. Turning back to the small table and picking up the knocked over chair on his way, he sat back down again, refusing to look Theodore in the eye for he knows that his first mate will see only hilarity in this situation. Reaching for the bottle of whisky he motioned for Groves to carry on talking.

“How dare he!” Elizabeth seethed under her breath. Now that she was alone on the deck she felt a trifle foolish – something she would never concede to the men in the Captain’s quarters. The three had been trying to work out between them what should be done, no easy task for James when Groves and Elizabeth were involved. She had stuck fast to her resolution that they must go to Shipwreck Cove and convene with Jack and the other pirate brethren – an idea the other two (unsurprisingly) had not taken to. Groves had wanted to return to Port Royal and incite rebellion in the ranks of the Navy men still there: he was convinced that once they saw their much loved commander restored in all his glory; they would be willing to overthrow Beckett. James’ view lay somewhere in the middle, and Elizabeth had been sure that she was winning him over when he asked her to leave the two men alone for a bit – damn him, she thought.

There was no one on deck apart from a few men on the dogwatch shift, up on poopdeck. She was still dressed in her new dress but it failed to deter her from what she was going to do next. Throwing one last glance back towards the doors of James’ quarters, through which she could see the uneven candlelight flickering against the window, she moved towards the mainmast.

Almost an hour had passed and the two men were no closer to resolving the discussion. James could see the merit and the attraction in what Theo was proposing, but that could be done after Shipwreck Cove though, couldn’t it? He couldn’t help but feel they should attempt to carry out both plans, only do Elizabeth’s first – but he was afraid of telling Theo this, for fear of emasculating him.

He had started to worry about Elizabeth but didn’t want to say anything, for fear of annoying his second in command. Absently, James tapped his foot on the deck as the other man once again argued for returning to Port Royal. Elizabeth wouldn’t do anything rash, he thought, would she? She was known amongst the society elite for being well tempered and well spoken, but amongst her closer friends and family she was a known hellcat whom it would be wise to avoid if you got on the wrong side of her. He was pulled from his thoughts by Groves slamming his tumbler down on the table.

“For love of God James, just go and check on her,” Theo said, tersely, “You’re clearly not listening to me and suspect you won’t ‘til you manage to get her to forgive you for whatever it is that she thinks you have done wrong this time.”

James stalled, dumbfounded, “Of course I’m listening to you, what made you think I wasn’t?”

Groves bit down a laugh and retorted, “Because you have been tapping your foot increasingly louder for the last ten minutes and you didn’t hear me tell you that I was about to throw myself to the sharks.”

The older man’s eyebrows knitted in confusion: “Oh.”

The two men stepped out into the cool night air, brandishing their lanterns and inhaling the salt air deeply, before they split up to find the missing woman. None of the men on the poopdeck had seen her, and it was only when they met back where they had started, with no sign of her, that they began to worry. James began to panic quickly whilst Theo managed to reign his concern in, and it was thanks to his rational thinking that it occurred to him to call up to the crow’s nest.

“Ahoy up there! Would there be any sign of a Swann in the crow’s nest?” He hollered up, hoping to ease his friend’s mood with his humour. A moment passed before the call came back down.

“There may be.” A feminine voice shouted back, greeted by gruff, relieved laughter from the two men. After all, neither had really been concerned - not really.

Theo quickly volunteered to scale the rigging to bring her back down, or at the least check that she could make it back down safely – this was met with derision from James:

“As much as I trust you, Theo, do you honestly expect me to believe that you won’t take the first opportunity to shove her into the ocean?” The captain drawled.

Theo reacted, mock aghast: “Me?” They had a conspiratorial snigger – knowing full well that Elizabeth would hear their laughter, wondering what they were up to.

“What are you two gentlemen up to down there?” The voice came tentatively through the dark, just as they had known it would.

Before James could dissuade him, or in fact tackle him (which would be the more likely scenario), Theo had shrugged off his jacket and was climbing the rigging. Theo knew that, as passionately James’ felt for Elizabeth, he would not risk bringing down the crow’s nest by squeezing in with the two of them. His progress up the rigging was slow and laborious, it having been longer than he’d care to admit since he had done this. The higher he climbed the colder it got and he regretted leaving his jacket behind. At last he reached the top and found small hands helping to pull him into the nest, before they collapsed to the floor, their legs hanging through the bars. There they sat for what seemed like several minutes, but must have only been seconds (as no worried call came from below), in silence. Theo’s eyes strained to take in the shape of Miss Swann: a dark object on a darker horizon.

“Why did you come up here?” She spoke so quietly that he nearly lost the words in the sea wind.

“To check you were alright.”

“Why do I highly doubt that, Mr Groves?” These words were sharper and he heard them more clearly. He thought carefully about his answer.

“Honestly Miss Swann, I have no intention of being one of the men who fall head over heels for you, neither do I want to be your protector,” he bit back, before softening, “but, as hard as it may be for you to believe, I don’t particularly wish any harm, at least physical harm,” he added wryly, “to come to you. Particularly since James holds you so dear – even after the hurtful hand you dealt him.” The truth came out.

Elizabeth turned to face him, and he could just about make out her surprised expression, illuminated by the faint light of the lanterns on the deck below.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but find Groves’ honesty refreshing. He was the first person to have spoken about her betrayal of James. Her father had skirted nervously around the topic, Will didn’t seem to care in the slightest and Gillette – the annoying Frenchman – had merely snarked at her every time he saw her. As for James’ himself, he was the least likely to talk of it. The only person who had come close was the unlikely candidate of Mr Jack Sparrow.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she spoke softly, leaning closer to the man, pouring out her secret, “I just didn’t feel anything for him, more than friendship, in that particular moment in time.”

Groves could see her bite her lower lip and saw the way her eyelashes fluttered against the tops of her cheekbones, holding back tears. Theo, despite himself couldn’t help but grudgingly admit that sadness became her.

Reluctantly he prodded her on, “And now? In this particular moment in time?”

She let out what seemed to be a choked laugh, “Therein lies the irony. I cannot be sure, but I cannot now deny my heart was glad when I saw him again – particularly after chose his side. And I can confide, in you, that my heart,” here she hesitated “may no longer be so attached to William Turner.”

Elizabeth shivered from the cold and Theo again lamented leaving his coat below.

“I beg of you, tell him this, let him know where he stands – that he may, after all, have a chance - otherwise you may be the death of him,” he paused, not wanting to overstep his line, “He does love you, you know that don’t you? He loves you like he loves the sea – and that is high praise indeed.” Elizabeth cocked her head thoughtfully as she turned her gaze back to the ocean. He felt he had fulfilled his duty as James’ friend and stood, holding a hand out, asking her to follow, “Come, it is time to return below.”

“Thank you Theodore.”

She seized his hand gratefully and they began the long descent together.

AN: Thanks for reading, and I apologise if it seems too much like a filler chapter, but it was really hard to write. Please comment, since thats the only way I can tell what I'm doing right and, likewise, what I'm doing that you'd rather I didn't! Another big thanks to everyone for persevering with me!

Transformation Catch Up: Parts 6-10

Mon, 27 Aug 2007 19:00:46 GMT

Am about to post the latest (ie. the eleventh) chapter of Transformation in about an hour - I know, I know it's been a long timecoming! It's been so long, in fact, that I'm sure a lot of people have forgotten what has happened so far, so here are parts 6-10 published together!

Title: Transformation
Summary: James Norrington chooses a different side: his own. (Chapters one to five - i.e. half the story so far)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Mainly James Norrington and Elizabeth Swann
Disclaimer: Trust me, I'm making no money of off this, in the words of Phoebe Buffay, if I did: "Say I bought a really great pair of shoes with the money. Do you know what I'd hear with every step I took? 'Not-mine, not-mine, not-mine.' And even if I were happy, ok, and, and skipping, I'd hear 'notNOT-mine, notNOT-mine, notNOT-mine, notNOT-mine.."

Chapter Six

He had made his decision. They would go to the meeting point. He barked out the orders, and watched in satisfaction as his men scurried around, doing his bidding. It felt good to be in control of a ship of his own again. His mind wandered back to his plan. They would go. James would explain to Beckett that they had been forced to destroy Davy Jones’s heart when he had tried to take back the heart. Regrettably Mr Mercer had been caught in the cross fire and it had fallen to James to stab the heart. But of course Beckett should have no worries, after all James followed his orders well. It was imperative to keep Beckett and his men off of the Dutchman, James realized, he couldn’t afford to let Beckett get his hands on his heart. He still wasn’t sure what to do with Mercer, but he knew he had to keep him away from his master. He would need to find a moment to talk to Groves, he knew he was serving as the captain aboard the Endeavour, but hopefully he would agree to a slight demotion in exchange for regaining his honour.

Turner approached him, waiting respectfully for his captain to notice him. Bootstrap was amazed at the change that had come over the crew since the change of captain, and not just the physical changes. Everyone seemed much more disciplined, focused and even more respectful of each other. He watched the man before him, looking over the prow of the ship. He wasn’t the sort of man he would usually have sailed with, but he was grateful for his fairness and injection of new life to the Dutchman. The Captain turned, seeing him.

“Mr Turner.” He nodded his head in acknowledgment of his lieutenant.

“Commodore Norrington,” Some of the crew had called him Captain, but this title seemed to please him more, as if it were an old friend, “We are approaching the meeting point.”

James smiled and agreed with him. “Was there something else Lieutenant?”

There were in fact two other things that Bill wanted to put to him, but was unsure as to how he should broach the subjects, “Sir. You seemed to recognize my name when I introduced myself; I take it that you know my son? And if you know my son and I trust that you know that Elizabeth his wife to be?” He stammered out, James whirling around in rage.

“I know she is,” he roared, the hurt in his eyes flickering for all to see, “I am the one who gave her to him!” Without another word, or allowing Bill to redeem himself, he strode back to his cabin where Elizabeth waited – perhaps to prove his point.

Closing the door behind him he ran a hand over his wig. He shouldn’t have done that. Turner was out of line one part of his mind argued, maybe so, but he was right – the other chided. All thoughts of propriety were gone when he saw Elizabeth. She looked radiant. She was wearing a blue, corseted gown. It was nearly as beautiful as she was, he thought. She never would have gotten away with wearing such a dress in Port Royal – what made it simultaneously scandalous and breath-taking was that where the whale bones were stitched in, a different fabric had been laid over them, in a pale blue, underlining her fantastic hourglass shape. The dress was also off of her shoulders, and that combined with her long and loose hair made her look almost naked to his eyes.

Elizabeth let out a bell like laugh, startling him from his reverie.

“I take it you like it?” She teased him, eyes sparkling in that mischievous way that had been missing for so long. He had the urge to kiss her again, but instead gripped the handle of the door behind him, tightly.
“It is rather, ahem,” he stuttered and stammered, “fetching. If a little revealing. Where in God’s name did you find it?” Elizabeth scowled at him moodily and muttered something about finding it in his wardrobe, but didn’t push the matter. He was clearly distracted and she still had other things to ask.
“So what’s happening? Are we going to meet the others at Shipwreck Cove?” She asked curiously, despite her new found girlishness, brought on by the safety of being in James’ protection, she refused to be brushed aside. James turned and smiled somewhat patronisingly at her.

“No, no. We’re are meeting up with the Endeavour,” At her fleeting look of doubt he explained, “I’m going to see if we can get some more good men on this ship. I also want to know what they have planned.”

She acquiesced to his plan, but felt too afraid to ask any more. She knew he despised the things Beckett was doing and the way he ruined lives, but Beckett also offered an end to piracy – would he be able to resist that, she wondered? She hoped so, she dreaded the idea of having to choose a side. She stored that particular worry away for now, and in turn pressed James over another worry of hers.
“James?”

“Hmm?” He half answered as he undid his cravat and sat down on the loveseat opposite her.

“What will happen to my men?”

James looked down guiltily, he hadn’t forgotten about them, but she was sure not to like his decision. “Elizabeth, you know what I’ve always said,” with this she crossed the few steps between them and sitting down next to him she placed her hand over his mouth.

“I know, I know “any man sailing under a pirate brand or a pirate flag will get what he deserves, a short drop and a sudden stop”” she spoke, mimicking his deep drawl, “But please James, they are my men. Can’t you make and exception?” Whilst James’ mouth was closed, his eyebrows seemed to working overtime, to convey his annoyance and disapproval. She took her hand from his face, waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry Elizabeth,” she bowed her head in defeat, “But any man that I find with brands on their arms must be punished,” he watched her and pity flooded him, “However, of course, if I am unable to find a brand then they may go free.” Elizabeth snapped up her head and smiled coyly at him. She stood, excusing herself and made to leave the room, before she reached the door though, she spun on her heel and rushing back to him, she planted a kiss full on his mouth before leaving without another word. James sat back in shock. What had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Seven

There was a knock on the door. James turned his head and called the person in, infinitely weary of this day and wishing it would soon be over. One of his lieutenants stuck his head around the door, he wasn’t sure what his name was, and informed him that the prisoners were ready to be inspected. Sighing, he checked that his uniform was all in place and put his tricorn back on. Duty calls.

The pirates had been assembled on the deck and were being lined up by various soldiers when James arrived. He could see Elizabeth arguing with one of the pirates and decided to start at the other end of the line, giving her as much time as he could. He drew up alongside the first of the pirates, he seemed to have some authority amongst the rabble and James patiently asked him if he could get the men to roll up their sleeves so that he might inspect their forearms. He complied and the action was repeated down the line. Silence descended on the men as the Commodore began his inspection. The first man had no tattoo, that was clear, nor did the next five or so. The seventh man had a suspiciously placed armband but James decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. So did the next two. His patience began to wear thin, but he managed to retain himself for Elizabeth’s sake. Elizabeth was still arguing with the man and waving around a scrap of cloth in front of him – James ignored her, as did the pirate. The tenth man had a nasty, fresh looking burn on his left arm and James let him go. Finally he came to the eleventh, the chap Elizabeth had been arguing with. He was taken aback at his appearance, he was a large man, one whom James would not have liked his odds against in anything other than a fair fight or battle of wits. He proudly displayed his forearms; on both was the pirate brand. Elizabeth closed her eyes in defeat. James contemplated “not” seeing them, but before he could make a decision the man spoke:
“Those are pirate brands, Commodore, just in case you had forgotten what they looked like. Unlike these cowards,” he turned, snarling at the rest of Sao Feng’s men, “I am proud to die for what I am; you have not the guts to do anything about it.”

James nodded simply, bellowing to his men, “Set up the gallows.” The man’s face remained impassive, but James fancied who could see a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Elizabeth seized his arm tightly, but he ignored her, telling Turner to set the other ten up in a dingy – they were free to go. The redcoats brought out a wooden stool and a thick rope. A sailor shimmied up the rigging, looping it over the branch of the mast and below one of his old Navy men tied it into a noose. The crew began to assemble, looking decidedly uncomfortable and fearful – James wondered just how many of them had pirate brands? James freed himself from Elizabeth and walked over to wear the pirate was being held as they readied the noose.

“Any last requests?” James asked, knowing what sort of answer he would get. The man grinned at him and before James realized what he was doing, he spat at him – thankfully the gob of saliva hit only his boot.

“Fine then,” he sighed, why did he always try to reason with them? “As a representative of the King, I find you guilty of piracy and sentence you to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your soul.”

It had been a long time since James had himself given the order for execution – though not long enough. He walked back to Elizabeth and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He would have like for her to go back to his quarters, but he knew she would refuse. The pirate stepped onto the stool and one of the redcoats placed the noose around his neck. Turner had the unfortunate duty of performing the execution, and after a moment, looking for one last confirmation from his commander, kicked the stool out from underneath him. Elizabeth moaned and buried her head into his chest, clasping his hand tightly between hers. James lowered his eyes but he could still hear the choking of the man, even the sea seemed to have fallen silent. The moans and sound of thrashing continued. Realizing this could be a long death he pulled his hand free of Elizabeth once more and reached for his pistol, and looking the pirate in the eyes, he fired. Let none say that he was not merciful. James dropped the pistol to the deck and made for his cabin with Elizabeth – the shot still ringing over the sea.

Chapter Eight

Elizabeth sat, stunned, on the seat. She had managed not to cry. Just. But she didn’t know what had shocked her most, the execution, the fact that James executed him or that James had shot him. She looked up as James approached, carrying two glasses. He sat down next to her and nudged her hand with one of the tumblers until she took it. Numbly she looked down, it was a brown liquid, and she looked up at him again.

“Rum?” She asked, almost hopefully.

He smiled tightly at her, “No. Something with a little more kick. Drink it down; it’ll do you a world of good.”

Despite the horror of what had just happened, she still trusted him and without more questioning, she tipped her head back and drained the lot of it down her throat. It burnt harshly and she found herself sputtering slightly. It did, indeed, have more kick than rum. James smiled at her, drinking his own more slowly.

“Elizabeth,” he spoke softly trying to explain away her guilt, “There was nothing you could have done. You saved most of them – he had a death wish, it was his own fault, no one else’s – particularly not yours.” Elizabeth blinked dully at him. It crossed his mind that he perhaps shouldn’t have given her quite so much whiskey; after all she was a good deal smaller than he was. But the words seemed to ease her suffering somewhat. She put the glass down with a heavy "thunk". She turned back to him.

“How could you do it though?” She questioned.

“Do what?”

“Shoot him? Wasn’t he suffering enough?” She prodded, naively. James felt a flicker of resentment – why did she always expect the worse from him? Taking a deep breath to calm himself he explained.

“I didn’t shoot him to cause him pain. I did it to put him out of his misery. A man can live for long minutes if he doesn’t die immediately,” He leant forwards and lifted her head up so that he could see her eyes “I did what I did as an act of mercy.”

Elizabeth blinked strangely again, “I understand. I’m sorry that I even thought that you could be doing anything less than that,” Her eyes seemed to be clouding over slightly and as James felt her leaning into his hand he tried to scooch away from her on the seat but could move no further. Just as she leant in to kiss him, again, she suddenly burst into tears, clutching at his jacket. He had definitely given her too much whisky.

After several minutes of erratic sobbing Elizabeth seemed to doze off, much to James’s relief. Standing, he picked up her small frame and laid her on his bed. He wondered if he should loosen the corset but decided against anything that could make it come across as lecherous. It was just then that he realized that he had thrown his hat back into the ring. He was going to fight for her this time – William Turner had better watch out. With that he pulled the sheets over her and kissed her forehead lightly. He left her there to her sleep.

Out in the full sunshine his sailors were still scuttling around the place, following their first officer’s lead. The grotesque corpse was no where to be seen, though several recoats were sloshing buckets of water over a dark stain on the wood. Looking over the horizon, he thought he spotted something. James pulled his spyglass from his pocket and took a look ahead of them. His eyes did not deceive him. Some five leagues or so away, the Endeavour waited. He helped his men around the riggings as he waited for the ships to meet, making sure that he remembered to send someone to feed Mercer.

An hour later the two magnificent ships drew alongside, and James couldn’t help but feel a smug feeling of “my ship is better than yours”. He instructed his men to keep the Dutchman just outside of boarding range; he didn’t want anyone getting onto the ship that he didn’t want there. He did however get a rope ready, the ship would move just out of range after he had swung aboard the Endeavour. Taking his jacket off, he debated whether or not to take it with him. Eventually his sense of decency won out and he tied it around his waist. He kept the wig on, but lost the hat – he didn’t want it falling off. He climbed onto the ledge of the deck and took the rope that Turner offered him – it had been a while since he had done this. Not allowing himself to dwell on this, he leapt from the side and swung across the stretch of water. He made it, despite landing a little heavily on his landing. He let go of the rope as he felt the Dutchman move away. He pulled his jacket on, just as Groves came over, looking ridiculously sombre.
“Lord Beckett requests to see both you and Jones immediately in his study.” Groves spoke curtly, leaving James feeling a little hurt that their usual greetings had been dismissed. He followed the captain, not explaining where Jones was just yet. As they drew up to the doors, James tried breaking the silence.

“It’s good to see you Theo, I trust Beckett is not treating you too badly?”

Groves stopped outside of the door, and just as he was about to open the door he murmured to his friend, “Well he’s not capable of giving many tall orders, is he?” With a twinkle in his eye he ushered the Commodore in and shut the door behind him.

Chapter Nine

Beckett sat at the table in the middle of the room, sipping a cup of tea – predictably. James bowed to him, before realizing there was another man sat with him.
Beckett put down the teacup, “Good morning Admiral. I do believe you two know each other?” he spoke crisply, and the man sitting opposite him turned. It was none other than William Turner, the pirate/blacksmith extraordinaire; he smiled at James in a slightly too civilised manner, and gestured for him to sit. Feeling decidedly uneasy James took the chair in between the two, not speaking until Beckett spoke to him.

“As much as it is a pleasure to see you, Admiral, I’m afraid we were rather hoping for the captain of the Dutchman.” He spoke in his patronising tone.

It was James’ turn to smile, “I’m afraid, Lord Beckett, that Jones is no longer in control of the Dutchman.” He poured himself a cup of tea and took a sip, leaving Beckett confused.

“May I ask then as to who is?”

“That would be me, Lord Beckett,” he answered after dabbing at his mouth with a napkin; he was enjoying making Beckett squirm. Besides him, Will suddenly looked up, processing new information, “I must report, Lord Beckett, that tragically a few good men were lost trying to reign in Jones – including your Mr Mercer, I’m afraid.” Beckett’s face darkened slightly and his jaw muscles twitched.
Beckett knew he was on dangerous ground. Without Mercer holding the chest ransom, Norrington was free to do as he wished. Knowing that he had to be careful not to push the Admiral either way, he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt – for now.

He changed the subject, and they discussed their plan of attack, William Turner had brought with him the compass of Jack Sparrow – which would lead them to the meeting of the Pirate Brethren. Will also informed them of Barbossa’s mad plan to free Calypso, goddess of the sea. Of this last detail James felt sceptical, but then again he had indeed faced un-dead pirates and he himself was the immortal captain of a ship that ferried souls to heaven. James frowned, feeling a headache coming on. Beckett informed them of their heading, and just like that the meeting was over. James left quickly, hoping to be able to find Theodore before Beckett got his claws into him, but before he could escape completely, the junior Turner caught up with him.

“So it’s true? You are the captain of the Flying Dutchman?” He asked, eliciting a scathing look from the older man, James felt annoyed – could Elizabeth have at least chosen a slightly sharper suitor?
“Yes, Mr Turner I am. I assume you are enquiring as to your father’s health?” James drawled, not slowing his gait, forcing the shorter man to half jog to keep up with him – cruel but fun.
“He is still there then?” Will asked, looking for explicit confirmation.

“Yes. Very much so,” James replied, catching a glimpse of what appeared to be his former first officer turning around a corner, “If you would excuse me, there is someone I would speak with.” With that he left the younger man hanging and chased after his friend.

“Groves,” he hissed, not wanting to attract too much attention “get back here!” Theo turned at his voice and willingly trotted back over to him.

“Are you alright sir? Beckett seems a mess after some news you’d given him, any chance you’ll tell me what it is?” He asked. James thought of telling him the full story then but decided against it, not wanting to risk being caught.
“You trust me, don’t you?” He questioned his friend.

“Of course sir” He answered back, not quite sure where this line of conversation was leading.

“Not just as your superior, but as a friend?” James prodded, not wanting anything less than total allegiance.

“With my life,” Groves answered back quickly, and added cheekily, “Sir.”

James smiled at him, “Come with me. Back to the Flying Dutchman, quickly before we’re missed – I’ll tell you everything there.”

Theo looked hesitant, conscious of the unforgiving nature of Lord Beckett. But given a choice he would rather upset the Lord than his Admiral. He nodded his head, “Let’s go.”

Chapter Ten

James landed on the deck of the Dutchman with a heavy thud, letting the heavy rope snake out of his hand and return to the Endeavour. James turned to watch Groves, for whom it had also, clearly, been a long time since using a rope. Unfortunately Groves’ grace was not quite as great as James’ and the man lost his footing once on the deck, tumbling back onto his tailbone and being dragged backwards on the deck by the rope – forgetting in the melee to let go of it. Thankfully one of the crewmembers had the sense of mind to pull the rope from the officer before he got pulled over the side of the ship. James let out a dry chuckle as his friend got to his feet and sheepishly readjusted his wig, the hat having fallen off along the way.
“Not a word.” Theodore said sounding pained as he approached his commander. James pursed his lips and tried not to make contact with him, or any of the crewmen suppressing giggles around the deck.

“Any ways, I think you owe me an explanation for dragging me over here, don’t you?” He added testily.

“Indeed I do.” And as James helmed the ship he explained the atrocious things that Beckett had been doing, as if Groves didn’t already know, the Dead Man’s Chest, and killing Davy Jones. He explained with some difficulty his apparent immortality and saw the flash of temptation cross his friend’s features – the cheeky bugger wanted to put that to the test!

He watched his friend’s face as he spoke, unnerved slightly by his silence, but knowing that it was his way - to listen and only ask questions at the end. James realized as he finished that he had somehow omitted Elizabeth from the story, but he decided he would explain that later. Groves bit his lip, thinking carefully about what he was going to say, resting his weight onto the side of the boat, hands splayed wide across the gleaming wood.

“So what do you need from me?” He said, short and too the point, still looking over the seas.
“Sail with me. Revive the Navy in all her glory.” Groves smiled at his friend’s sincerity – but his completely having missed the point.

“You don’t need me for that. What do you want me to do?” He asked again.

“You are good officer, a fine man and,” James clapped him on the shoulder, “a true friend. Sail with me again as my first officer?”

Theodore smiled, “You realised that is, technically a demotion for me?” he teased his old friend before agreeing – the two men shaking hands on the matter.

James was pleased. Smiling, he led the man back down to the main deck and joked that Groves could have the honour of telling Lieutenant Turner that he had been replaced as his first act as first officer. They chatted amiably as they watched the Endeavour bank slightly to the starboard side, and drawing away from them.

“Have they not noticed I’m gone?” Theodore asked, somewhat put out.

James let out a deep laugh, “Beckett doesn’t want to spend any longer than he has to with me - I suspect you’re easily replaceable.” James ribbed him.

James was in no hurry to set off just yet - they were capable of getting anywhere in the Caribbean in under three days. What really gnawed at James’ consciousness was that he still hadn’t decided on a final plan of action yet. He supposed he would have to talk to Groves and Elizabeth about that. A sailor came up to the two officers, it was Turner, and offered Theodore his, more than slightly wet, hat which some pitying crewman had fished out of the water. Theodore thanked him and Turner a returned to his tasks with a deferential bow. James was relieved that there were no apparent hard feelings.

Theodore was telling him about the latest situation in the English colonies, how a group of children – as young as six – had been hung on Beckett’s orders, on the charge of associating with pirates. James shuddered, “how could the world have come to this?” he wondered as he gazed over the guard rail into the ocean. He thought longingly after the whisky that was in his cabin, but wouldn’t dare to intrude on Elizabeth’s sleep. As if on cue the captain’s quarters doors swung open with a bang and Elizabeth still in her fantastic gown stumbled out into the daylight, looking bleary eyed and dazed by the sun. Theodore immediately whipped his head around, glaring accusingly at James. James merely shrugged helplessly, “She was on board at the time is all.” Groves looked like he wanted to interrogate him further about what his friend thought he was doing with a rather saucily clad younger woman, whom James was most likely still very much in love with, in his cabin. Before anything more could be said Elizabeth made her way over to the men and exchanged stiff formalities with the new first officer. Elizabeth didn’t really know a good deal about the man except that he had taken a disliking to her after she had humiliated his commander, and for that she couldn’t blame him. She moved to lean on the guard rail on the other side of James and the three stood in silence for several minutes, alternating between gazing pensively into the horizon and shooting furtive glares at each other. Finally James suggested they convene in the cabin so that they could discuss what their plan of action would be. Elizabeth smiled in acquiescence and Groves gave a sharp nod. She slipped her small hand through his arm and he led her in – the action not missed by the keen eyed first officer. Theodore let out a cough that sounded an awful lot like tutting to James, and Elizabeth frowned in disapproval.

James sighed in annoyance, by all means this should have been a perfect scene for him, captaining the most powerful ship in the Caribbean with his trusted friend and the woman he loved at his side, and instead they were ignoring each other’s presences and distinctly cooling the atmosphere. Bloody insubordinates, James thought, bloody women!

Transformation Catch Up: Parts 1-5

Mon, 27 Aug 2007 18:54:41 GMT

Am about to post the latest (ie. the eleventh) chapter of Transformation in about an hour - I know, I know it's been a long time coming! It's been so long, in fact, that I'm sure a lot of people have forgotten what has happened so far, so here are parts 1-5 published together!

Title: Transformation
Summary: James Norrington chooses a different side: his own. (Chapters one to five - i.e. half the story so far)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Mainly James Norrington and Elizabeth Swann
Disclaimer: Trust me, I'm making no money of off this, in the words of Phoebe Buffay, if I did: "Say I bought a really great pair of shoes with the money. Do you know what I'd hear with every step I took? 'Not-mine, not-mine, not-mine.' And even if I were happy, ok, and, and skipping, I'd hear 'notNOT-mine, notNOT-mine, notNOT-mine, notNOT-mine.."

Chapter One

James Norrington sat in the gloomy captain’s quarters of the Flying Dutchman. The ship lurched horrifically and James clutched the sides of the chair he was sat in. He ignored the rocking of the boat, too invested in his own problems. Elizabeth was in the brig. He wanted to go help her, but he knew that he needed to think this through. His eyes flickered across the soldiers keeping watch over the chest – they were, predictably, asleep against the walls. Elizabeth had told him that it was time to choose a side, and although he still considered himself part of the Navy, he knew that wasn’t a side in its own right anymore. Not now, now that Beckett had twisted and distorted the service that James loved, to meet his own ends – the ends of the East India Company. He sighed again. So it came down to a straight choice: Beckett or Elizabeth. It seemed an obvious choice at first, but choosing Elizabeth meant abandoning his men and having to ingratiate himself with Sparrow. He shuddered at the thought. Looking up again, a third choice came to him. If he couldn’t side with the Navy, which no longer existed, then he could create his own side. He rose from the throne like chair and walked, uncertainly, towards the chest. Checking the men were still asleep, he opened the lock, as quietly as he could – Mercer foolishly having left the key in the room with him. The heart lay there, much as it had those few weeks ago, but it seemed a sorrier sight somehow, barnacles falling off and oozing more than he remembered. He reached out a hand, but thought better of it – why risk Jones realizing something was wrong? James pulled his sword slowly from its scabbard, listening to the low whistle as it came free. Here he paused. Did he really want to do this? Before Swann had set sail for England he had told him that he had discovered what happens to he who stabs the heart. Did he want to spend his eternal life as the Captain of the Flying Dutchman? He faltered and lowered his sword. Before he could sheathe the sword again, Elizabeth’s face came to his mind and strengthened his resolve, and before he could agonise about it any more, he plunged the sword tip into the heart.

Elizabeth sat with her head resting on a wooden pillar behind her. She was disturbed by Bootstrap Bill’s words. Who would Will choose? Before losing the heart of Davy Jones she would have been confident that Will’s love for her would win out, but now? Now she wasn’t so sure. Their relationship had grown awkward recently; they either ignored each other, or tried too hard. She remembered Singapore, when they had reunited after the battle and after not knowing how to act for a moment he had put his arm around her waist and dragged her off – but it didn’t seem like a genuine act of protectiveness, but rather what he perceived to be the right thing to do in that situation.

Then there was Jack. Since they had brought him back he had barely said two words to her, that wasn’t an insult. She couldn’t tell if he was punishing her or simply trying to move on. Elizabeth let out a wry laugh, earning her a dubious look from one of Sao Feng’s men, less than a year ago she had had a wealthy suitor, an infatuated blacksmith and a flirty pirate – now what did she have?

With that, her thoughts rounded onto her first fiancé, and current captor. She couldn’t blame him for keeping her locked up – she was a pirate, she thought with some smug satisfaction, but to say that her father had returned to England? That was a foolish lie to tell her – she knew Beckett had mercy for no man. Even so, there was the smallest of doubts in her mind, which told her that maybe he was telling the truth, for when had he ever lied to her? She realised, bitterly, that he was the only man not to have lied to her at some point. Before she could dwell on other men there was a loud screech from above. Elizabeth jumped to her feet, covering her ears from the frightful noise. Despite not being able to hear it, she could feel the sound ringing through her bones. It stopped. Cautiously she took her hands from her ears and looked around. Her men were fine. But what of Bootstrap? She moved over to the wall and found the man lying on the floor; she moved to help him up but was shocked by what she saw. Before her eyes the man stood up slowly, barnacles and starfish and all falling away, and the shreds of clothes he still had, melted like wax into cloth blue, white and gold. She gasped sharply. Bill Turner stood before her, not only a man resurrected but a man transformed. She knew these clothes, and looking outside to the guards she saw them, too, looking at their garb in wonderment. They were Navy uniforms.

Chapter Two

Elizabeth looked at the men walking around in their uniforms – what was happening? She noticed they were all moving upstairs, Bootstrap was let through by another sailor and together they all passed upstairs. None of them said a word as the crew of the Empress gazed on in awe. Once they had all gone the prisoners broke out into bursts of whispers and theories, but Elizabeth remained holding onto the bars, wishing desperately that she could get out somehow. There was another sound, the prisoners all listened with bated breath, and it was a scream this time – a man’s scream. She called out helplessly “James!”

The Flying Dutchman dived beneath the water, shaking itself free of its uncomfortable adornments and wiping the slate clean. Away came the barnacles and the sea creatures and even the darkness of the wood. When the ship came to the surface the paint peeled back to reveal the true colours of the ship, blue and mahogany – the cannon ports gilded in silver. On the deck of the ship the Dutchman’s captain lay, rejuvenated on the red decks of the ship, hand clutching the new red scar on his chest.

James Norrington stood, taking in his uniform. It was his old Naval uniform, gone was the garish mustard yellow, and back was the purity he had sorely missed. He looked around at the men who were advancing towards him and came back to reality. Reaching for his sword he swung it out before him, scaring off any would be challengers. He realized they were all dressed like he was, in various uniforms – ranging from the redcoats to the lieutenants.

“Stay back.” He called to them and they immediately stepped backwards. This revelation caused him to falter somewhat, he hadn’t been expecting them to do what he said. One of the men came forwards; he wore a lieutenant’s uniform.

“Sir. We mean you no harm – we are simply a crew waiting orders from their captain.” He spoke carefully to him, as if afraid of upsetting him. James lowered the sword – his mind began to make the connection now. Another thought occurred to him – where was Mercer? He patted his coat pockets frantically and was relieved when he found the key there. He beckoned over the soldier holding the chest. He had some grim desire to see it, to force himself to believe that this was really happening. The chest opened with a pop and lifting the lid he saw before him a beating, very bloody and very fresh heart. Feeling slightly ill he closed it again and took it from the man.

“Where are Beckett’s men?” As his new crew led him below deck, James found himself checking for tentacles or other fishy attachments – but thankfully none were to be found. He looked around, they seemed to be in the brig, as they walked through different compartments James took off his hat, which was a hindrance below deck and carefully stooped beneath every beam. At last the crew stopped outside the largest of the cells, inside was a gaggle of very nervous looking pirates, Sao Feng’s he remembered, and East India Company officers. At the front of the group though was Elizabeth Swann who seemed to have been having an altercation with Mercer, who was gripping her wrist tightly, though in their shock at seeing him they had frozen in position.

“James?” Elizabeth pulled her wrist away sharply, now meeting no resistance. She walked over to the bars with some trepidation, he looked different to her. His uniform was back to his Commodore’s one, and the atrocious yellow was gone too. He seemed taller, more powerful and even more dashing than ever.

“Let her out.” He commanded, and one of the redcoats swung open the door for her. Allegiance to her pirates was forgotten, mesmerised by the revival of a dear friend. She moved over to him and placed her hand on the side of his face. “What is happening James? Where is Davy Jones?” His new resolve seemed to weaken a moment before he raised his hand to hers and giving it a gentle squeeze he pulled it from him and dropped it. Turning to address Mercer too, he spoke,
“I am Commodore Norrington, the Flying Dutchman is mine,” he spoke in his low soft spoken voice and turning fully to Mercer and his men, “Davy Jones is gone. This ship will serve the Royal Navy,” but before Mercer could gain false hope, “but never serve Cutler Beckett and his East India Company,” his eyes moving from Mercer he looked over the soldiers, many had been Naval Officers like him once, “The rest of you have a choice to make, stay loyal to Beckett and remain in the brig with Mr Mercer, or rejoin the Royal Navy, as free men.”

There was a long pause before two soldiers shuffled nervously forwards, he had known them, Murtogg and Mullroy was it? The larger one spoke out, shaking, “It would be an honour, sir, to serve under your command again.” With that they both gave him a salute, and gradually they all got to their feet. He was proud of them – you can take the man from the Navy, but never the Navy from the man. He turned to Elizabeth again, she was still looking at him in a strange way, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He offered his arm to her and ordering his men to let the soldiers out, he swept out with Elizabeth on his arm.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth wasn’t entirely sure why she was clutching girlishly to James’s arm, or why she was twittering away like an eejit. She cringed at feeling like she was sixteen again, infatuated with the heroic captain of Port Royal. But she wasn’t, she reminded herself; lives were on the line – what a difference three years made. James hadn’t really said anything to her, but they were being followed by his men, and James had always been a private man she reasoned. They came outside and she was surprised that it was still night, the stars were out in their full numbers, welcoming the return of an honourable captain, who would deliver them souls. James looked down at her, as she gazed up in wonder, even at World’s End the stars hadn’t shone so brightly, and it was hard to see on the glasslike sea, where sky met water.
James felt his heart tighten slightly. He watched her eyes scanning the glittering horizon. Was it so wrong that he still, still after his rejection, so desperately wanted her to love him? She turned up towards him and smiled broadly. He reciprocated and led her over the Captain’s quarters. He opened the doors and both were left stunned by the appearance of the room, no longer was it grimy and clammy – with walls covered in God only knows what. The ceiling seemed higher, the floors were shining cedar, the walls were painted in simple white and the windows had blue velvet curtains. He felt a slight stab of reminiscence; it was like his quarters aboard the Dauntless, if a little more grand. Forgetting his company he opened the floor to ceiling curtains that separated the room. Behind them were a small wooden bedside table and a large bed with sheets of white and blue and a frame of silver. He blushed at what Elizabeth would think, and quickly drew the curtain back around it. Elizabeth had seated herself on a settee and sat waiting for him to join her. Awkwardly he offered her a drink, which she rightfully declined; he hesitated before sitting down next to her. It was strange, he thought, when he had gone through his, ahem, “pirate” phase he would have had no difficulty talking to her, but now in his uniform he felt stifled. He began to talk to her telling her how he had decided it was time for the Royal Navy to fight back, and as he did so he stood again, pulling his wig from his head and placing it upon the hat stand, he untied his cravat and deposited it on the desk with his jacket. He turned back to Elizabeth and saw her looking back at him in awe, mouth open slightly. He couldn’t help himself. He moved over to her and pulled her up to her feet. Not giving her time to understand what was happening he kissed her hard, pulling her flush against him, claiming as much of her as he could. When he finally let her go, she looked at him stunned and said simply:
“You’re a pirate.”

Chapter Four

Before the pair could disentangle themselves from their passionate embrace – his hands on her neck and the small of her back, and hers tangled into his shirt - a lieutenant barged in:

“Sir,” but before he could get out his sentence he saw his captain and Elizabeth Swann in their passionate hold, and more importantly his Captain’s death glare, “My apologies sir!” With that he scurried out of the room again. James suddenly felt very self-conscious about the way they had twisted themselves around each other, and wasn’t entirely sure about how he should go about extracting himself. Elizabeth, too, seemed frozen.
Elizabeth tried desperately to suppress her blushing. Pirate. Why had she said that? Why? It was completely untrue, one of the things she found attractive about James was his clean shaven look, and entirely un-piratical appearance. The kiss had been entirely inappropriate, and she willed herself to stop thinking about it, and to feel angry at him for doing such a thing. But, the little girl in the back of her head said, that was a hell of a kiss. Well of course it was, but surely not as good as the ones she had had with Will, or even Jack. But then the one with Jack had been tainted somewhat by her betrayal, she thought to herself. And Will’s, she had to admit, were always safe and romantic but never left her panting and clawing at the man. She flushed with embarrassment again, and tried looking any where other that James – somewhat difficult considering their close proximity.

There was a knock at the door, and they finally pulled away, both feeling the loss of contact more than they would care to admit.
“Come in.” James called authoritatively. The lieutenant reentered, and Elizabeth gasped and quickly rushed off behind the screen, hand to her mouth. James looked after her, puzzled – “women!” he thought. Turning his attention back to the soldier he asked what he wanted.

“We need a heading, sir. We were supposed to meet with the Endeavour this morning, but we weren’t sure you wanted to keep that appointment…sir.” The man spoke slowly, deliberately trying not to look towards where Elizabeth was hiding.

“What is your name, lieutenant?” James asked, idly, as he walked over to his large desk and perched on the edge.

“Bill Turner, sir,” He replied, quickly - clearly nervous in the younger man’s company.

Recognition flashed across James’ face, that name sounded all too familiar to his liking, but dismissing it he reached a hand out towards him.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance Lieutenant Turner, I assume you are willing to take on the mantle of first mate, at least temporarily?” But before he could elaborate on the man’s duties their hands met and James reeled as images flashed in his mind: the ocean; Elizabeth screaming; the monster Turner had been, then he felt pain and a strange voice echoed in his head: “a touch o’destiny about ‘im…” Then all went black.

Chapter Five

James came to with his head in the lap of a very worried looking Elizabeth. On seeing him open his eyes she seemed to relax, though she still kept her hands supporting his head. After his initial disorientation, James couldn’t help but feel stupid. Grown men weren’t supposed to pass out, black out from manly pain but not girlish fainting fits. Elizabeth was looking worried. Had he missed something? He couldn’t hear! He felt a surge of panic as he explained that he had gone deaf. Elizabeth looked sheepish and moved her hands. Oh.

“James, are you alright?” She asked, concernedly. She looked different James thought, since the few minutes since he had seen her last.
“Yes,” he croaked, good grief, he thought, this fainting was unpleasant business, “How long have I been out?”

“Almost two hours now,” she spoke quietly, seeming tired, “We managed to drag you onto the bed but we had no idea what had happened to you.”

James opened his mouth to talk but a loud croak erupted instead. Elizabeth sent the redcoat at the door to fetch water. She looked down on him, brushing the hair from his forehead tenderly.

“I know you think I’m coldhearted,” he tried to protest but she waved him off, “but I do love you James,” he looked at her incredulously, “Really. The problem is that I keep changing. I can’t seem to stay the same for more than a few weeks at a time. When I chose Will,” here James winced, “he was the man for me. Now I’m not so sure. A few weeks ago I was sure the only man for me was Jack Sparrow,” she smiled wryly, “and then I killed him.”

James looked at her, amazed at her sudden attack of brutal honesty. He waited a moment, to see if she would volunteer anything more, when she didn’t he tried to prompt her, “So what are you saying, Elizabeth?”

She grimaced slightly, “I’m saying that you should bear with me – see what happens.”

The door opened and his drink was brought in. The two of them sat in companionable silence for a good few minutes, James not feeling any inclination to move from his very comfortable spot, feeling that he had made some real headway in getting to know Elizabeth Swann.

Lieutenant Turner returned, and after many apologies for what could not possibly be his fault, he gladly accepted the invitation to be his temporary first mate. As James finally got to his feet, leaving Elizabeth feeling very naked, he missed the accusing glance that Turner gave his son’s fiancée. She at least had the decency to look ashamed, if only for a moment. As James stretched his back, Elizabeth fetched his coat and wig, almost reluctantly handing them over – she liked the man beneath the façade.

With a bow James left her in his quarters. She sat on the edge of the bed, giggling slightly over the realization that James Norrington was the first man who’s bed she had been in.

James straightened his cravat as he walked, always a step ahead of his lieutenant, as he debated what to do. If they went to the rendezvous point they would certainly be found out, and the advantage of surprise would be lost. But James couldn’t help but think of the good men on Beckett’s ship – good men who would surely return to his ranks if given the option. As competent as Turner surely was, it would be a great comfort to have Lt Groves at his side again, a trusted advisor, confidante and friend.

Masquerade

Sun, 12 Aug 2007 01:35:41 GMT

Title: Masquerade
Rating: PG(13)
Characters: Elizabeth and ? (Though if you know me AT ALL you will know who "?" is)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Elizabeth's 18th birthday party seems to have descended into sinful chaos, so she turns to a stranger for solice.
AN: Pre films and written for the "Mistaken Identity" challenge. May have gone a bit off track though.

The air is thick with laughter. Elizabeth feels a strange buzzing in her head as she moves to the music, a combination of the heady atmosphere, she suspects, and the even headier wine. The minuet comes to an end and she is grateful to prise her hand from the sweaty grip of Mr Fourcade – he may be in costume, but there’s only so much a mask and cloak can do to hide a girth that large. She manages to scuttle away from the dance floor before the next dance begins and she is grateful that she is in a full costume: no one but the servants know what she looks like tonight. She signals to the footmen by the French windows to open them for her, so that she might find some brief respite in the Caribbean night.

It is Elizabeth’s eighteenth birthday. It is ironic, she thinks, that no one here (probably not even her father, she thinks, spitefully) knows who she is. Her debut was several months before, and a much more tasteful affair, one she had not thought she would look back on with fondness. But now, now she longs for the stiff, ever present British courtesy and propriety. Several times tonight she has had to avert her eyes from shameful sights that she never needed to have seen. As the footmen moved to obey her wish, she caught sight of her reflection in one of the wall mirrors. What she sees both delights and dismays her. She is wearing a gown of deceptively innocent blue, trimmed with silver brocade – a strange mockery of the Navy uniforms that she is so used to. The décolletage she is revealing was designed to shock and appal her father. It saddens her that he didn’t even notice, that he didn’t seem to care enough to notice. The “back-up” gown still hung forlornly in her room. The mask she wore was silver, cut ornately so that only her mouth showed – the finishing touch were the plumes of blue feathers, in all shades, sprouting from one corner of the mask and weaved into her dark hair. She looked like a woman now. She looked like a temptress. She didn’t recognise herself.

The doors swung open at last and the relief was immediate. Loud and garish sounds and sights made way for the blue and pink of the evening over Port Royal. Elizabeth set down her glass and fan upon the stone railing of the balcony, leaning her weight onto her arms. After twenty minutes or so, long enough for three dances to finish, she became aware of someone moving behind her. The figure lingered for the entire length of another song, before Elizabeth finally lost her patience, turning to the man and gesturing for him to join her. Propriety had never been one of her strong suits. As he drew alongside her, Elizabeth took in his costume. He was wearing a simple black dress suit, providing a strange contrast to the white mask he wore. He was wearing, what she thought was, a Venetian Bauta mask – she shuddered inwardly, trying to quash her dislike of masks.

The silence between the two was surprisingly amicable for such a seemingly strange pairing. The music carried on playing vaguely in the background but seemed to be diminished by the sounds of crickets and tree frogs to the two listeners. After a short while it became clear that one of the two should break the silence, and so it was that both turned to speak at the same time. Elizabeth bowed her head as demurely as she could and asked to be allowed to speak first, which the gentleman of course consented to.

“Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but just for tonight, let us be equals: would you like to dance?” Before the man could speak again, she blustered on, “Out here, on the balcony?” Elizabeth felt the discomfort bout the mask, as she had before, wished she could see his thoughts play across his features, and know what he was thinking.

“Of course, madam.” The man said, as she hoped he would, had known he would. He holds himself out to her and she moves into the embrace of the masked stranger. And they dance. They dance not to the fashionable tune emanating from the house but to the sounds of Port Royal at night, footsteps falling in time with chirps and squawks. He breaks the silence this time.

“Why are you dancing with me, madam? Why not enjoy the company of those indoors?”

“I tire of the situation and fear what other awful, carnal sights might be inflicted upon me, should I cross the threshold again.” She retorts, and feels a strange tight, coiling sensation in her chest when he laughs. She is oddly pleased with herself for having achieved this small feat. She goes on to describe the grotesque cinch she found Mrs Fourcade in, with a man who was undoubtedly not her husband, and she is rewarded with another laugh.

“So tell me, good sir, why you are in my company, and mine alone?” She almost regrets this when she says it, almost. It seems to imply something darker than she is comfortable, but he does not falter in her rhythm, so neither does she.

“The same as you, I suppose. I came only to wish the birthday girl my best.” There is a long pause when they focus on nothing but dancing, and Elizabeth tries to memorise how it feels to be held by a man. A man who is in good health and somewhat nearer her age than most bachelors in Port Royal. Their song seems to draw to a close, the nightlife seeming to quieten, much to her annoyance, and the couple find themselves slowing. Elizabeth finds she can’t yet bring herself to let go of his hands, and so they stand there, longer than they should, standing, as if frozen in their dance.

“You look beautiful tonight, Elizabeth.” He stumbles over his words, spoken so loudly that they are almost carried off by the sounds of the party. She smiles genuinely and thanks him – she is pleased he knows her. It is time to retire to her rooms, she thinks. The man bows and turns to walk off into the darkness of the gardens. She can’t help herself, and she calls after him, feeling foolish:

“Goodnight! And thank you,” He turns to look at her again, “Thank you, James.” He pulls off the mask and she knows it is him. He smiles at her before being swallowed by the dark.

It is strange Elizabeth thinks how stuffy, uptight James Norrington should only be unmasked as the man beneath, through the conduit of his masquerade.

AN: Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed that, even if I am certain that I got a bit off track... Have been on holiday for a little bit and am popping off to Lisbon on Monday, but should hopefully be able to come up with some updates for Transformation soon!
A bauta mask, for those of you who don't know, looks like this:

http://www.veniceonline.it/Carnival/Carnvale_bauta_1piano.jpg

Sat, 23 Jun 2007 00:12:29 GMT

Title: Hallelujah
Rating: PG13ish
Disclaimer: nothing but the plot is mine
Characters: Elizabeth and Norrington
Summary: Pre CotBP and majorly AU. What happens when something drastic changes the course of history for two character's relationship. And what exactly is love? Set to the song "Hallelujah" as sung by Rufus Wainwright (but originally written by Leonard Cohen)

AN: Haven't really checked over this in a none-exhausted state so bear with me, any major mistakes, don't hesitate to point them out, may tidy this up and repost at somepoint, but still tell me what you think!

Hallelujah

I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do you?

James sat at the piano, his fingers resting lightly on the keys, brow furrowed in thought. His eyes shut and his mind’s eye he visualised the Dauntless cresting along a calm sea. Eyes opened, he finally pushed down and the music began, it started awkwardly though and he stopped quickly, frustrated. He tried again but this time it was not the beauty of a ship or the sea that soothed him, but the memory of Miss Swann. He saw her as clear as day in his mind, standing on the harbour watching the Dauntless return the port, waving shyly at him. Eyes open. He tried again and the difference was profound.

It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift, the baffled king composing Hallelujah

James was reading a book intently. Not one of the naval strategy books he should have been brushing up on but an old classic that he had brushed the dust off and decided to enjoy on one of his rare days off. There was a sudden bang and he shot out of the seat – ever the soldier. He looked around warily before seeing a figure out in the rain. James opened the French windows and was horrified to see before him a thoroughly drenched Miss Swann. After freezing for a moment he regained his senses and ushered her inside to the library and threw a few logs onto the dying fire. The girl – no, young woman now, he corrected himself – sat on the very edge of the sofa bed he had been reading on and clutched her arms about her. He gently asked her what she was doing out here on her own, in the appalling weather no less, had she had a disagreement with her father? She smiled ruefully and shook her head. As her shivering passed she seemed to find her tongue and she told him that she had decided to walk over to his home, before the rains had hit, in order to invite him to her debut ball. She was seventeen in two days she declared, proudly. James politely accepted the invitation but dreaded the thought of such a thing. He hated balls, he was not much for any social activity, let alone social activity which required you to move well on your feet and imbibe large amounts of alcohol.

Your faith was strong but you needed proof, you saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you

James called for the butler to bring the carriage and escorted her home, trying to ignore the rather fetching way the sopping dress was clinging to her. As they reached the Governor’s mansion she smiled fondly at him and held onto his hand longer than was strictly appropriate as he helped her down the carriage steps. He declined to come in. He sat in the carriage on the way back thinking that perhaps this ball wouldn’t be quite so bad.

She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

He had been wrong. He was on his own, alone amongst the masses. The party was due to begin at seven in the evening. It was just pass eight and the host had not yet shown her face, much to the consternation of her father. He caught sight of a flash of Navy blue through the crowd and taking evasive manoeuvres from the desperate girls in his path he eventually found himself beside several other captains and lieutenants, all seemingly as miserable as him. Those that were married looked glumly over at their wives and the clock periodically, whereas those who were not, were fidgety in the presence of so many potential brides.

Maybe I have been here before, I know this room; I have walked this floor, I used to live alone before I knew you

After much small talk and catching up, the orchestra started up at long last and all eyes turned to the long marble staircase where Miss Swann had appeared, looking like the sun through the haze of the rain. She, in her white and glittering dress, was perfectly silhouetted by the large glass window behind her, in which the pouring rain and thunderous clouds could be seen. She walked the steps with an elegance that comes only from rehearsal. James suddenly realised he hadn’t breathed for too long and let out a sputtering cough, earning him dirty looks from nearby guests and the mirthful gaze of the hostess. As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs her proud father took her arm and showed her around to the guests, until they reached the cluster of Navy officers. She smiles at him – radiant.
“Captain Norrington, would you do me the honour of my first dance?” She asks him and he feels as if his heart will stop. He smiles back at her and takes her from her father, knowing that he will be roped into a discussion with the Governor later. They move gracefully across the floor, her heels clicking, it seems to him, musically upon the hard floor. He can hear his heart beating fast. They begin to dance and all other thoughts beside her flee his mind. She holds him tighter than might be socially acceptable but he does not dare to correct her – besides she must be more knowledgeable in such things than he. As the song ends and she stays in his hold, he has the sudden irrational desire that she should never leave his arms. Some wealthy young upstart comes over and asks if he may cut in – James very nearly tells him there is not a chance in hell. She smiles at him again, and when he calls out pathetically “return to me?” she nods over her new partner’s shoulder.

I've seen your flag on the marble arch, love is not a victory march, it's a cold and its a broken Hallelujah

In the next few months James finds himself growing ever closer to Miss Swann – no, Elizabeth, she wants him to call her Elizabeth. She has a rather worrying tendency to appear at his home when he least expects it, so often that he begins to develop, he jokes, a Swann-sense. Very early one morning, before he has even had time to get all of his uniform on she arrives at his front door – in floods of tears. There has been an epidemic of yellow fever sweeping through the town of Port Royal – she had been rather glum about the lack of shopping available – but this time her grief is justified. A young man she was friends with, much to her father’s chagrin, has died of the fever. He comforts her as she wallows in grief, even taking the day off of duties at the fort so that he may keep her company. He remembers the lad himself, he would be hard pressed to forget – some six or seven years ago he had been found floating in the Caribbean Sea. An ill-fitting end, James thinks, for such a survivor. He lets her father know that she is at his home and the governor sends a chaperone, but otherwise seems to trust him. Gradually her tears begin to dry up, and although James knows it will take more than a day for this wound to heal, he is pleased with her progress. After that day he resolves to ask the Governor his permission to marry his daughter, knowing that he will likely have to hope for a promotion before the betrothal can become public. The thought of marrying Elizabeth makes him feel strangely light headed and he has to work hard to conceal his intentions from her. Over the next few times he sees her she seems better, on the face of things, but James can tell that something has changed, there is hardness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

There was a time you let me know what’s really going on below, but now you never show it to me, do you?

James’ dreams seem to have come true, it is announced before all the citizens of the town at church on Sunday morning that Captain James Norrington will be replacing the recently retired Horatio Johnson as the Commodore of the British Navy in the Caribbean. He sits in the row behind Elizabeth and watches with pleasure as Elizabeth turns in her pew to gape at him, having figured out what a promotion would mean months ago. As his well wishers depart and it is just him with the Swanns left, he shakes hands with the Governor before the older man hands over his daughter to him. They walk through the town, recovered now from those terrible times earlier in the year, arm in arm. When they reach the harbour he pats her arm fondly and he proposes – she seems genuinely happy and he is delighted it his him who makes her feel this way. The hardness in her eyes seems to fade a little.

Hallelujah

It is their wedding night. Both are wracked with nerves and embarrassment and they attempt to make light of the situation. She is surprised he has never done this before and he feels another rush of nervousness. Several days before the wedding he had caught her crying over her friend and in her madness of grief she let it slip out: “I think I loved him.” Their relationship has been tenuous since, carrying on with the façade, neither willing to acknowledge that she admitted anything. Their first night together is clumsy but unifying. They find pleasure amongst their awkward fumbling and are content. Doubt crosses his mind as she moans in her pleasure but is allayed when it is his name that he brings from her lips to greet the heavens.

Remember when I moved in you; the holy dark was moving too, and every breath we drew was Hallelujah

They are married. They are wed. They are husband and wife. It takes James time to get used to the union he is now a part of, and to get used to the weight of the gold band on his finger. One use he has already found that the metal has is that it is an automatic deterrent for the unwed women of Port Royal. He still worries over Elizabeth’s affections for the blacksmith but is reassured by her tenderness towards him. At night, when she thinks he is sleeping she murmurs the extent of her love for her husband into his chest and he holds her tighter when she sleeps. Although their marriage is considered by most to be a good match, a perfect match – the Governor’s daughter and the Commodore, there are some who are spiteful. James has had to restrain himself from using his military persona to dress down the gossipy women in the town, who spread deceit about the woman he loves, but the rumours begin to fade with time and all that is left is the two of them. It takes her a year before she can bring herself to tell him that she loves him when she is sure that he is conscious, and another one to make him believe her. But they are content. They are happy – love, after all takes work: Love is not a fairy tale.

Maybe there's a God above, and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
And its not a cry you can hear at night, its not somebody who's seen the light, its a cold and its a broken Hallelujah

Haunting

Thu, 14 Jun 2007 23:31:31 GMT

A short, angsty drabble - sorry!

Title: Haunting
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine
Characters: James and Elizabeth
Summary: At night Elizabeth is visited by an old friend.

Haunting

She closes her eyes against the darkness of the room and feels the tide of sleep tug at her. Not resisting, she is pulled under. She dreams of him again. The air is warm and she can taste the salt on the breeze. He is sitting on the sandy shore with his knees bent up and his arms behind him, supporting himself. It is such a casual position, and it further separates the Commodore and James in her mind. She sits down next to him and the say nothing for what seems like hours. Finally she turns to him and takes in his face, reminding herself of the sharp nose, the dark hair – usually covered with the white wig, which lies forlornly on the sand some metres off – and his green eyes. He looks back at her, fondly. She is the first to break the silence, as usual.

“I miss you, James,” She tells him sadly, “The world is not the same without you here.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I know.” is all he says. She leans against him, trying not to cry, wanting to be brave, for him.

“Talk to me.” She asks him, and she waits anxiously to hear that voice. That voice, which she found so condescending in life, but now, misses desperately. He tells her something different every night, and it is this that lets her hope, against reason, that she is really talking to him, not just imagining it all.

“I love you,” he says, and she can’t hold back a painful sob, “you know that now, don’t you? But one thing I’ve never told you, or anyone for that matter, is that I have always known,” He paused, gauging her reaction, “I was going to die for you.” She cries helplessly, wondering why he is telling her this but grateful he can finally, in death, confide in her.

“I had a vague idea of it on the crossing from England, and as you grew older and I fell more deeply in, I knew that my life would end with you,” he looks at her thoughtfully “If it meant you lived on, it was well worth it.” He leant over to rest his head atop of hers and they stay there until the sun begins to set.

As the sun touches the ocean she looks up to kiss him softly on the mouth, forever regretting that they had done it but once in life.
“Goodbye James.” Despite her wishes that he would find peace, wishing he would leave her to find his salvation, she can’t help but harbour the selfish hope that she will see him again the next night.

The sun is gone. She wakes, eyes flying open at the wailing of a child. She flushes with guilt and rushes to the babe.

Changes in Time

Thu, 14 Jun 2007 23:24:05 GMT

Hi all, this is my posting of all four chapters of Changes in Time, enjoy!

Title: Changes in Time
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: So not mine
Characters: Elizabeth Swann; Will Turner; James Norrington; A little bit of Bootstrap and Ana Maria
Pairing: W/E but ultimately JN/E
Summary: Will gives Elizabeth the opportunity to bring someone back from the locker, but what happens when it's not who they expect it to be?

Chapter One

Elizabeth dropped her sword in shock. She was on board the Flying Dutchman with Will, her first visit since their wedding day. It had been five long months since she had seen him. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They had been fencing when Will had told her what he had found that he could do.

“What?” She asked, dumbly.

“I can bring someone back,” Will paused as recognition began to stir behind her eyes, “I can bring your father back.”

Elizabeth brought her slim hand to her mouth in shock and confusion, looking away from her husband to the vast sea. Traitorous, convoluted thoughts twisted in her head – did she want her father back? She chastised herself for thinking such a thing, but she couldn’t help but feel that she wasn’t strong enough to lose him again. After a moment she felt Will’s hand on her shoulder and she leant back into him.

“When?” She asked tentatively, now that the shock had worn off she couldn’t wait to see him again – how she had missed his company, and Will’s and, she thought with a wry smile, even James Norrington’s – living without them, in Port Royal, was a lonely affair.

Three days later they were nearing their destination, near World’s End. She couldn’t believe she was here again – every breeze and sound reminded her of what had happened only months ago yet seemed like so many lifetimes. After the events of the battle with the East India Trading Company, Elizabeth had come to the conclusion that although she had enjoyed her adventures, she wanted to settle down – something she never thought she’d hear herself say. She had, after marrying her sweetheart, retired to Port Royal, living comfortably on her father’s lands and estate, waiting for Will to return to her. She had considered going back to England and rejoining London society, but her heart had won out – despite the bad memories that accompanied the good, the Caribbean would always be her home.

There was a shout from the crow’s nest from Bootstrap, “We’re here William!” Then with a sheepish note he added, “Captain Turner.”

Elizabeth started from her thoughts and looked around her. It was day this time. Will had told her that they wouldn’t need the green flash this time around. She could hear the thundering falls nearby and was reassured by the sound of the anchor being dropped. They were here.

She looked down anxiously as Will climbed into the small rowboat. Once he had settled he looked up at her, waiting expectantly for her to join him. She hesitated, not wanting to ask for help – it would make her look foolish. She was grateful to be wearing breeches instead of a dress. Gingerly she climbed down the rope ladder until she was level with the boat. Suddenly she realised she had completely forgotten how she was supposed to dismount the ladder without falling into the rowboat, or worse, the sea. Thankfully she was saved by Will who came up behind her and lifted her into the boat by her waist.

Elizabeth sat timidly at the prow of the small craft, wishing that all her sense of adventure and rebellion hadn’t left her. She watched with detachment as Will efficiently cast off the lines and begin to row them a small distance from the Dutchman – they were rowing from the side of the ship protected from the brutal water flow. When they were about 100 metres from the vessel Will stopped, extending a hand beneath the surface of the water, willing the sea to hold them in place – a perk of being the Dutchman’s captain. Elizabeth smiled sadly at his form, as he frowned in concentration. The air between them had been tense and uncomfortable in the last few days. Elizabeth realized that the two of them had never spent so long together in each other’s company. On their return from the Isla de Muerta she had only ever spent time with him on the deck, when she wasn’t reading in Norrington’s quarters, talking with her father about her ill-fated wedding or taking a turn around the ship with the Commodore himself. Elizabeth felt a sudden pang of loss as she thought of her once fiancé. She had truly wronged him, she realised now. “What has the world done to you, James Norrington?” she recalled her words, with the realization that the world had inflicted his love of her on him. Looking again at her husband she felt a rush of guilt, guilt that she had carried with her since her wedding day. When Will had kissed her fantastically, heroically on the Black Pearl she had felt disappointed. Disappointed that that fairy tale kiss had lacked the meaning and, if suppressed, passion of the one James had given her only days before.

Will withdrew his hand from the water and turned to face her, taking in her delicate form – he couldn’t help but feel that she had changed in the short time since had seen her last, she seemed more fragile and even, god forbid, more domesticated. He saw her gazing into the horizon wistfully, mourning he supposed for her father still. A small niggle of doubt raised its head – or is he mourning her separation from Jack? Regardless, she belonged to him. He still couldn’t understand how she could have changed so much in such a short amount of time.

“Will?” He was startled from his reverie by her throaty voice. He remembered himself and began to explain what they needed to do.

“You need to get into the water,” he ignored her shudder of discomfort, “and swim downwards, I’ll hold onto you with a rope, so you won’t get away, you need to call your father and he should come to you. Once I think you have him I’ll pull you back. You need to be clear when you call him otherwise there’s no knowing who will come through.”
Elizabeth was disturbed by his lack of comforting words or detail but decided to place her trust in him one more time. She looked into the depths of the water with trepidation, not liking to dwell on how cold the sea would be.

“What happens if he doesn’t come? Can we try again?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“He’ll come.” Will said, evasively.

“Will?”

He sighed, and conceded, even in her new temperament she was still persistent – maybe there was still hope.

“No. If it doesn’t work that’s it. You won’t be able to try again,” at her shocked expression he elaborated, “You can’t try bridging the two worlds again, your body just won’t be able to take it.”

Elizabeth nodded, almost in defeat, she turned to the water again – she was ready. She pulled her overcoat off, a thick jacket of fur that Will had bought especially for her in the Americas. Will was shocked to see that underneath she wore non other than the Navy coat that the Commodore Norrington had given to her when she was aboard the Dauntless. She stood up, and Elizabeth made to pull the coat off, but then thought better of it, tightening the sash that closed it. Will gave her the end of the rope, carefully measured so that she would just be able to reach the other side, but not enter fully. She tied it around her sash with shaking hands and Will was again struck by her frailty. Taking one last look at Will she stepped off of the boat.

It was so cold. Elizabeth’s mind seemed to freeze. After a long moment she remembered what she was meant to do and began to swim down, feeling the rope around her waist become more and more taut as she went. There was a light ahead! She swam with determination now. As her hands made contact with the glowing surface she felt the rope tighten up, struggling against it, she reached her hands through – feeling warm air on the other side. She pulled against Will’s hold again but was unable to pull away, with dismay she realized that she was beginning to run out of breath, in panic she called out into the ocean, “Please? I need you! Come back to me!” large bubbles bloomed in front of her and as her eyes began to dim she felt Will pulling her back. Defeat overcame her and she watched with grief as her arms pulled back from the other side.

Just as her hands were about to re-emerge she felt something grip them tightly and her mind cleared at once. Feeling a sharp tug on the rope she squeezed the hands and pulled them towards her, with the last of her strength. She saw her hands entwined with long masculine fingers reappear from the light, and with that her world went dark.

Will pulled the rope as hard as he could, frantically leaning his weight into extracting her from the water, she was heavier now, and he could only hope that she had found her father. Suddenly the rope went slack, toppling him backwards in the boat, and he watched the water in shock and horror. What was happening? After a few moments he saw Elizabeth’s dark hair coiling to the surface and leapt forwards seizing her shoulders, dragging her desperately to the boat. He watched in anticipation a moment before he was relieved by a sharp intake of breath from her prone form. He felt the boat lurch sharply and turned to see the man she had saved. But it was not the man he had expected.

Rolling over the side of the boat with great heaving gasps and racking coughs was none other than the former Admiral Norrington.

Chapter Two

Despite the various coughs and sputtering that were coming from the two drenched passengers, Will felt that a palpable silence had descended upon them. Elizabeth turned on her side, heaving out great mouthfuls of salt water. He knew that he should be helping her, at least putting her coat back on her, but he felt paralysed. Why? Why of all people would she bring back Norrington? Norrington who she had seemed to detest? Norrington who she had left for him? Norrington who had died on the wrong side of the battle? Will watched him with a mix of contempt and uncertainty. Norrington sat up and looked up at the sky, like a man who has not seen day for a thousand nights, and Will suddenly realized, that maybe he hadn’t.

James looked down again, and saw Elizabeth attempting to sit up, drenched to the bone. Doing a sweep of the small craft he saw a large fur coat, and grabbing it, wrapped it around her thin frame. It was only then that Elizabeth really saw him.

“James?” She asked in bewilderment.

He smiled stiffly at her, pulling her close to him, trying to keep her warm. She was so thin, he thought. Looking up into the eyes of her sweetheart, Turner, he glared angrily at him – how could he let her get like this? And to let her fall into waters this treacherous was sheer folly. It dawned on James then, that he should not, by all rights, be here, in the glorious sunshine.

“James?” she asked again, interrupting any analysis of why he was here again. He looked back down into her large eyes and felt his heart would contract until it simply shrunk up into nothingness. He remembered. He remembered letting her go, going against all orders. He remembers kissing her. He remembers dying for her. He recalled, with dreamlike recollection, sitting in a rowboat, not too different from the one they sat in now, and passing many others like him. He remembers trying to cross over, but being held back by some unseeing force. Then like a nightmare, but a dream too, a woman’s hand had reached out for him from the depths, and he had been brought back.

Will cleared his throat loudly; his chest constricted tightly, sudden discomfort set in as he saw the way the two people were gazing at each other, searching for answers. They looked, he thought, like lovers who had found themselves after many lifetimes apart. The two looked up, shamed. Norrington loosened his grip on his wife and Elizabeth; somewhat reluctantly it seemed to Will, withdrew her hand from the officer’s chest. Will leant forwards and seized his wife’s wrist, feeling possessive. He turned to Elizabeth.

“Why is he here?” He asked simply, not bothering with pleasantries or courtesy towards Norrington.

Elizabeth seemed confused too, but she tried her best to explain, “I don’t know. But I couldn’t reach the other side, only my hands could get through.”

Will felt a flush of guilt, as it occurred to him that he hadn’t factored in the length of rope to tie around her waist when he had cut the length - that was why she couldn't get there. It was a bitter irony, he thought.

“Mr Turner,” James finally spoke, “I am not entirely sure why I am here, but the fact is that I am. Would you care to take us back to, what I presume is now your, ship? If not for my sake, then for Elizabeth’s.”

Will felt the words harshly, and felt like the young boy who had idolised Norrington again. Put into his place by the older man, and unable to think of a retort, he let go of Elizabeth’s wrist and picked up the oars. He was hurt to see that she shifted away from him, still gazing intently at her former fiancé. As he began to row, he couldn’t help but snipe, “She is my wife now, Norrington.”
Elizabeth’s gaze dropped and he thought he caught a flicker of pain cross the man’s features before the mask was put back up.

The trip back to the boat seemed torturously long. James was the first to climb out of the boat. Elizabeth quickly climbed onto the ladder after him, not wanting to get into the conversation with Will, she knew they would have to have, just yet. When she got to the top, James pulled her up, gently, by her forearms. The contact between them lasted the briefest of seconds though, as Will clambered onto the deck behind them, and James dropped her hands as if they had scalded him. The crew were moving around the deck busily, not caring that the man who was in their midst was none other than a former “commander”. Bootstrap Bill came rushing over once he saw his son, but froze in his tracks as he saw the man that he had slain, less than a half a year ago. James looked the man up and down, he was so very different looking now but he recognised him. He had no doubt that he would recognize him – he was still dressed in his admiralty finery, though his wig was mussed and his hat was no where to be seen. Elizabeth looked between the two men, not making the connection immediately – Will’s father was such a gentle man. When she did, she clutched onto Will’s arm, she had promised her father-in-law that she would not tell his son of the events of that night.

Bootstrap spoke at last, “Admiral. I hope you can forgive me for what I did to you.” He asked humbly, not making any excuses.

Norrington bowed his head, respecting the man for his humility, “It is forgotten – you were not were not in your right mind.” With this he extended his hand to Bootstrap, which he gladly accepted. With that Will’s father moved on, realizing that something was amiss, but that now was not the time to ask.

Will led them to his quarters. James looked around in surprise; the Dutchman truly was a reflection of its captain. The room was large but tastefully minimal, with only a large desk, a dining table and several chairs furnishing the room.
“Elizabeth, why don’t you go get dressed?” Will asked, tactfully.

Elizabeth looked like she wanted to protest but seemed to think better of it, sweeping out of the room as dramatically as she could. Will collected two tumblers and filled them, much more than was appropriate, with whisky. He handed one to Norrington, leaving the bottle on the table in easy reach. The officer murmured his thanks and sat down in front of the desk. Will took a great slug of his drink before setting the drink on the desk. Instead of sitting, he excused himself and left through the door Elizabeth had used.

While Norrington was bristling with indignation at being left, stinking wet in the captain’s rooms, Will knocked on Elizabeth’s room door.

“Come in.” she called. He entered to find her pulling a relatively formal dress on, and stepped behind her to help lace her into it. “Elizabeth,” he started, feeling her tense underneath his hands, “What really happened that night?” Will wasn’t a fool, she had told him that Norrington had died on the Dutchman but that was all she had said, but he knew there was more to the story.

Elizabeth let out a sad sigh. She began haltingly at first, but she knew this story would have to be told – he was her husband and he deserved to know all her truths.

“When I was caught by Davy Jones, he threw me into the brig, with what was left of Sao Feng’s crew. I didn’t escape on my own like I told you. Norrington came that night,” Will tensed, pulling the laces tight, eliciting a gasp, “He came to let us go. We got all the men off. I tried to get him to come with me, and I finally managed to convince him, but then one of Davy Jones’ men saw us. He told me to go. I wouldn’t,” Will was aware that her speech was becoming more laboured and she was weeping softly, “He told me that our destinies were always entwined, but never joined.” She let out a full sob now, and Will wrapped his arms around her slender waist.
“You kissed him?” He asked, not sure he wanted the answer, but already knowing it. Elizabeth turned in his embrace, burying her head in his chest. He felt the almost imperceptible nod, and felt something harden within him. “What happened next?”

She tried to slow her breathing and continued, “I started climbing, and I thought he would follow, but then someone came. He could have followed. He could have run. But he shot the rope – I fell, but he saved me.”

Will closed his eyes, suppressing his own tears, tears for the life he wanted slipping away before his eyes. There was one more awful truth to be had, he feared, “The man who killed him? Was it my father?”

Elizabeth stilled. Should she tell him, or should she lie to protect the relationship between father and son? But she couldn’t help but feel that he already knew, “It was. But you mustn’t blame him, please, Will? If James can forgive him, can’t you?”

Will withdrew from her arms and took in her lovely form. Her face was blotchy from weeping but it was still the face he knew so well. She was thin he noted, far too thin and he felt a great guilt for allowing her to bear the burden of her grief alone for so long. He took her hands into his, planted a kiss on each palm, before leaning forwards and kissing her forehead. With that he turned around and left the room.

Chapter Three

James shifted uncomfortably in his seat, painfully aware of how cold he was – the sea water felt as if it were seeping into his bones. He took a careful sip of the whisky in an attempt to warm himself up. Footsteps approached, and he replaced the drink on the table, hand subconsciously moving to the scabbard that hung on his belt – but it was not there. He stood as the door swung open and William Turner strode back in. He came level with James before drawing a sword. The officer’s mind went into overdrive, looking for a weapon, some place to move or run - but it was not necessary. Will simply held the sword aloft, straight up before him.

“This is a beautiful sword,” He stated, “Recognize it?” And indeed he did – it was his.

“I made this sword for the one who wields it – it reflects upon you well.” He flipped the sword and offered the handle to Norrington.

James took it, and lifted before him, “Thank you.” was all he said – he wasn’t entirely sure what Turner meant by this.
Will smiled, “Consider it my gift to you, along with Elizabeth,” he spoke softly, James could tell it pained the young man to say, but before he could interrupt him, he carried on, “Take her back home. Look after her. Give her life she wants, the life she needs. Give her children and a legacy she will not lament,” Will stepped forwards and clasped the older man’s shoulder, “Love her enough for the both of us.” Norrington looked him in the eye and knew he meant what he said – it touched him, to see the man return the “favour” that he had given him, so long ago on the battlements of Port Royal. Unable to summon the words he simply nodded, and gripped Will’s shoulder in return.

Unknowingly to both men, Elizabeth had entered the room silently, witnessing the entire scene. Will turned, surprised to see her there.

“Elizabeth,” He looked at her wistfully, regretting his choice, but knowing all the while he had to let her go, “We are at Tripoli, and here is where I’ll leave you. There will be a ship soon enough that will bear you hence, whether to Port Royal or to London. Make a life for yourself. This is my final gift to you, Elizabeth, please do not refuse it.” With a final squeeze of Norrington’s shoulder and a stiff bow to Elizabeth, William Turner left the room, and was not seen by them again.

Elizabeth walked over to James and took his arm. It pained her to leave Will after all they had been through together, but she knew this was the right course for her – piracy be damned. James smiled down at her, and she reached her free hand up to his wig, pulling it loose, revealing the dark her she knew he had beneath. James smiled again, one of his true, genuine smiles that reached those wonderful green eyes and made Elizabeth feel as if she could float. He leant down to kiss her, properly this time.

As they pulled apart, Elizabeth spoke huskily in his ear, to allay all his fears, “James Norrington, you are where my heart truly,” she turned her head, kissing his neck, standing on tip toes, “truly lies.”

Epilogue

Will looked out from the crow’s nest, searching the never-ending horizon. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but simply reflecting on his life. Needless to say, things had not turned out as he had hoped they would. He had lost his “wife”, if she could be called that – since they had never officially registered their marriage, his ability to walk on land and his own mortality. Although Will kept no real track of her, he knew it had been many years since he had returned Elizabeth to James Norrington. And for the first time in many years, he was consumed by the desire to find out what they had made of their lives, if Norrington had lived up to his vow. Climbing out of the crow’s nest, he nimbly scaled down the rigging, summoning someone else to keep watch. He entered his quarters and from underneath his large desk he pulled a large, porcelain bowl that had been left by the captain before. Despite the turbulent nature of the sea, the dark water that lay in the dish never spilt. He looked into the dish, searching for the bottom of the water, but it seemed bottomless. Never taking his eyes from the glasslike surface, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small trinket on a leather thong – the piece of eight Elizabeth had been given by Sao Feng. He dropped it in with a splash, and sat transfixed as he watched thirteen events in his love’s life unfold in the obsidian water.

He saw Elizabeth stepping off the ramp from a large boat, looking around self consciously. She looks lovely, he thinks, dressed in a royal blue gown with light blue lace and a fan. She stands there alone, a moment or two, before a tall and handsome man follows her down, holding several large bags in his hands – she is laughing at him, carrying all of her things. Norrington smiles bashfully, trying to shift the cases into one hand so that he may take her arm. He finally relents and lets her carry one case – only the hatbox though. They walk off of the wharf and disappear from view, Elizabeth clutching onto his arm, trying not to let her nervousness show.

She is sitting in a plush chair, positioned in a large garden, overlooking the sea. She seems to be doing a piece of needlework, or at least trying to – stabbing the cloth viciously with the needle, frustrated that she isn’t as domestic as she would like. She looks up to the ocean and sees it glittering. Will would have liked to think that she was thinking of him, and maybe she is, but it seems plain in her face that the green waters remind her of her true love’s eyes. As if on cue, he appears behind her, leaning above her to plant a kiss on the top of her head, she smiles, and she is content.

He sees James Norrington standing on the battlements, clad in all his navy finery. He mutters nervously to himself, hunching over the walls slightly. He turns as he hears her light footsteps, straightening his back. He reaches a hand for her and she joins him there. Norrington begins to speak but then seems to stop himself, stepping down from the edge, before getting down on one knee. Elizabeth can’t stop smiling, even if it isn’t proper, and she drops down to his level, embracing him and kissing her as if he is her lifeline. Although there is no sound, Will can tell she is saying “yes” over, and over again. The kisses she gives him and the hold she has him in would make any man blush – fortunately there seem to be no spectators nearby.

Elizabeth is all in white. Will realizes with a jolt that this is her wedding day. Her dark eyes seem to gaze at him a moment before they turn to her husband besides her. It is a small ceremony, Will notes; he supposes they both live in scandal, particularly now that he and the Governor are no longer there. The best man, Lieutenant Groves, hands Norrington his wedding ring for Elizabeth, and in his state of anxiety and excitement he drops it on the floor. Elizabeth looks on in fondness as he and Groves scrabble after it. Just before Norrington finally places the ring on her finger, he looks up at her, eyes filled with insecurity, and Will swears he hears the recognizable voice, “Are you sure?” She simple places a hand on the side of his face and nods.

He sees them at the docks again. She is holding onto him tightly, crying as he comforts her, rocking her backwards and forth. Will knows he is leaving, not because he wants to, but because Norrington’s duty to the Navy is so strong. He kisses her fiercely, as if trying to devour her tears, not caring what his men think. With no last words he gets onto a small rowboat and looks at her sadly as his men take him to the ship. Elizabeth has collected herself and simply waves goodbye to him – she will not shame him in public, she is stronger than that. Will knows she will weep in the comfort of her home.

Elizabeth seems thin again, skin drawn too tightly over her bones. She sits in the same seat that he saw her in before, in the garden. It is night now, and one of her maids comes and tucks a blanket around her, caringly. Elizabeth’s eyes seem dull in the dark, as she sits, waiting for her love to return. Will feels guilt as he thinks how he nearly made her wait for him for ten years.

There is a ship pulling into the harbour, its sails tattered in the wind. The wife of the Admiral runs to the ship pulling alongside the shipyard docks as they roll out the boarding plank. Lieutenant Groves rushes out to meet her, speaking lowly – Will wishes, desperately, that he could know what they were saying. Behind them, two officers, caked with salt and blood bear a stretcher towards them. On it is her husband, neck bound tight with white cloth stained red, eyes closed and skin whiter than the linen he lies on. Elizabeth rushes to him, checking he is still alive, before ordering the men to take him home – the spirit alive again in her eyes.

James Norrington lies in their marriage bed, smiling wanly at his fussing wife. It seems much time has passed; he looks well again, if thinner than he used to be. He catches her hand as she strides past, and pulls her down to him. Grinning at him, the spark returning to him, she kisses him lightly, murmuring something in his ear, before grasping a wet cloth from a bowl, and wiping his brow and neck – despite his gestures that say “I’m alright, really!”

It is night and in their bedroom again. Will shifts uncomfortably, wishing he could look away, afraid of what he’ll see. But they are not doing anything he cannot witness. James has his arms wrapped around his wife’s sleeping form; nose buried in her dark hair, spreading like blood across the pillows. There is something wrong. She seems peaceful, but her husband is sweating, swallowing uncomfortably whilst looking at his wife as she sleeps, afraid of waking her up – his wound has not healed.

The next scene seems unimportant at first glance, a portrait, almost, of a loving wife and husband gazing out to sea from their bedroom windows. But there is something else, the spectator notes, his eyes following the possessive path that the Admiral’s arms weave across her body – jealousy flares. The older man’s hands are splayed across her stomach. She does not, just, look healthy again. She is pregnant.

Norrington paces up and down before two heavy cedar doors. Will notices for the first time, since his attention has always been drawn to Elizabeth, that time has begun to show itself in James Norrington. His hair, free from the wig, is still dark, but there is grey around his temples and sideburns. His face seems lined, and Will hopes for his sake that they laughter lines. He also sees, as he turns his head towards the door that he has cravat tied high up his neck, to hide his scars. The doors open, and he rushes in. Elizabeth has two babes in her arms; her husband falls to his knees, looking adoringly at his goddess and their children.

They are in the garden again, but many years have passed. Elizabeth too shows the signs of age, her hair a little less glorious, and her skin, though still soft, Will imagines, is lined with care and worry. They sit on a large couch together as they watch their two daughters together. Will is surprised by their appearance. They remind him deeply of Elizabeth just before they began their adventures, but there is much of their father in them, in their eyes and in the way they hold themselves. They must be in their mid-teens, he thinks. How old are they now? Are they married off yet?

Elizabeth is sick. Will knows, almost before he sees her. She is in her bed, her faithful husband at her side. She seems gaunt, but what lets him know that she is not going to win this battle, is the look on Norrington’s face. His face seems jovial, telling her some joke or anecdote, while she holds the white cloth to her mouth. But his eyes, his eyes seem filled with despair and desperate hope. Elizabeth draws the cloth away and the rose blooming on it does not surprise either of them. This scene lasts the longest. William feels like a voyeur as he watches, for what seems like hours, a man who was once his idol, cradle the failing body of the woman he loves in her last hours. At last they stopped talking and together they rested in the bed. The scene faded with James watching his wife in her eternal sleep – his eyes no longer sparkling like the sea. Will felt cruel, but he was pleased, in some twisted way, that she had died first – She wasn’t strong enough to lose Norrington twice.

As he began to pull away from the dark water, he was surprised to see one last scene unravel before him. There were figures, clad in all in black, clashing with the Caribbean sun. They moved away, wraithlike, and he saw two stones standing proud from the green:

Elizabeth Norrington

Devoted mother and loving wife.

Queen of the Sea.

Died of consumption.

Born on the 21^st of October 1758

Died on the 31^st of May 1799

Admiral James Norrington

Loving father and devoted husband.

Servant of the Sea and Navy to the end.

Died in grief.

Born on the 19^th July 1745

Died on the 31^st of May 1800

Will finally pulled loose from the sights and shook his head. He nudged the dish back underneath the desk with his foot. He had had no idea that so many years had passed. He felt a heaviness in his, metaphorical, heart, and it was not just grief for his once wife but for the man who had loved her so completely that he had not been able to carry on without her. A voice called out behind him and he turned to see Ana Maria standing in the doorway of his quarters. She asked, concernedly, if he was alright, and he patiently explained, as he led her out to the deck, that he wasn’t sure he was, but he would explain. The love that his friends had shared deserved to be remembered by all he could tell. Idly, he wondered, as he began the story, if he should seek out Elizabeth’s daughters, but decided not to. He had already impacted their world enough as it was.

Will looked at Ana, who watched him intently as he unfolded the story. He didn’t love her, the way James had loved Elizabeth, but he was content. She made him happy.