Fic: Avalon
Characters: James Norrington/Jack Sparrow, Guinevere/Lancelot
Fandoms: Pirates of the Caribbean, Merlin
Word count: 1,063
Rating: R
Contains: Major character deaths (implied)
A/N: Written for intoabar for the prompt James Norrington walks into a bar and meets Lancelot.
8.
It’s a while since he left the Caribbean, but sometimes James thinks he can smell salt in the air, mixed with the fog that swirls thickly around his feet when he walks.
The Avalon is a good enough place to stop at for a mug of ale on his way home. He’s been sitting there a while now, and there’s something about the atmosphere of the place that James has come to appreciate: it’s almost medieval, with a small coat of arms gracing the wall above the mantelpiece, and clean, scrubbed wooden tables surrounded by an air of comfortable silence.
The woman behind the counter has a mass of curly dark hair bound back with a red scarf. She sends over a tray bearing a jug of ale and a thick slice of plum cake.
‘Cake is hardly my usual,’ James says, glancing toward her.
She grins. ‘Compliments of the house.’
He gives her a smile and a nod of thanks, watching as she refills the mug of the customer sitting at the counter in front of her. The young man is wearing a red cloak; an odd colour for a man, but it seems to sit right on him. He thanks her politely, and James sees her smile turn wistful.
He speaks to the boy a few times in the coming days. He’s always received with politeness, with a gaze that’s dimmed with forgetfulness.
1.
Voices are speaking incoherently, barely audible. James opens his eyes and Groves’s face floats above him, as indistinct as the voices.
‘Commodore? Andrew, he’s awake!’
In a moment, Gillette’s face is hovering alongside Groves’s. James blinks, and their faces become a little more distinct. He tries to sit up, but a crippling pain shoots through his left side, forcing him to fall back against the bed.
‘Theo? What’s happened?’ His mouth tastes like cotton.
He sees them exchange anxious glances. ‘You took a bullet in the chest, James,’ Groves says, resting a hand on James’s shoulder to keep him from trying to move again.
Theo and Andrew give him a blow-by-blow account of the battle that’s still raging. The slave-runners have three ships, and even the hundred guns of the Dauntless would not have been enough to ward them off had the Black Pearl not been their ally. Groves says something about how shrewd James had been to offer Sparrow a privateer’s commission.
‘Pity about Sparrow,’ Gillette responds. ‘Who would have thought he would be so valiant, right until the end?’
2.
The bed he’s lying on does not have the starched cotton sheets of the Dauntless. These are luxurious sheets made of soft satin, and coloured the palest lavender.
He throws the sheets off and pulls on his breeches. Outside, the sea is unmoving. Strange colours swirl beneath the surface of the water, like the fins of mythical creatures. Lightning flashes silently in the grey sky. The rain is slow, an invisible drizzle.
He knows he’ll find Jack at the helm. ‘Never did see lightning with no thunder to keep it company,’ Jack says calmly when he sees James approaching. One of his hands is curled around a spoke of the wheel, even though the water is stagnant and the Pearl is still.
James goes to him and falls to his knees, burying his face in the sash around Jack’s waist. ‘Don’t let me go to sleep again. Jack, please.’
Jack puts a hand on the crown of James’s head, and says nothing.
3.
Stagnant water smells like death, and James has smelt death more times than he wants to recall. The ship is surrounded by an unnaturally thick fog, becalmed in a strangely barren, unmoving stretch of water. There is no wind to fill the ship’s sails, and the smell of the water hits his nostrils every time he leans over the bulwark. It isn’t a particularly unpleasant smell in itself, but it reminds James of loss: an unremembered loss, or perhaps an impending one. It’s as if a bird were trapped inside his chest, wings beating against a too-small cage. Sometimes the bird is quiet, but he’s constantly aware of its silent desperation, the erratic beat of its heart.
4.
‘On your back,’ Jack orders gently. He fucks into James, kissing his mouth every time he makes a sound. Their locked fingers clench together tightly, Jack muffling his cry by biting at James’s shoulder.
Later, James lifts his head to look at him. ‘All right?’
Jack nods, pulling James back down.
They stay that way for a while, not moving even when a gust of wind blows the unbolted door open. James opens his eyes without lifting his head, and sees that nothing outside has changed. He knows without having to look up at Jack’s face that he’s looking too.
5.
‘I know it hurts,’ Jack tells him. ‘I know it hurts like there’s something sharp in your throat and you don’t know it, you just know that it hurts to breathe.’
‘Don’t let me wake up again, Jack. For the love of god, don’t let me wake up again.’
6.
The Dauntless has all but defeated the slave ships, but this isn’t James’s battle anymore.
It’s surprisingly easy to pull himself out of his sick bed, stumble to the bulwark and let himself fall into the sea. There's a shout from behind him, but it doesn't matter.
The hull of the Pearl is almost out of the water now, her bow beneath the waves as her stern rises high.
James pulls himself aboard the sinking ship and lashes himself to the mast.
7.
Raindrops cling to the rigging of the Pearl, glittering like diamonds. Jack turns from the helm. ‘Look.’
Ahead of the Pearl is a shimmering curtain of light, ancient, thin as a veil. James moves closer to Jack as the Pearl drifts slowly toward the aurora.
‘You have to go,’ Jack says.
James doesn’t protest, and they don’t say goodbye.
When he plunges in, the water is cold only for a moment. Drowning in forgetfulness is swift.
9.
There’s more cake at the Avalon that day. It’s rich with burnt rum, sharp and sweet-sour in James’s mouth.
Behind the counter, the girl with the dark hair is smiling at something the boy in the red cloak is saying.
The door is pushed open, and James smells the sea again.
~end
Fandoms: Pirates of the Caribbean, Merlin
Word count: 1,063
Rating: R
Contains: Major character deaths (implied)
A/N: Written for intoabar for the prompt James Norrington walks into a bar and meets Lancelot.
8.
It’s a while since he left the Caribbean, but sometimes James thinks he can smell salt in the air, mixed with the fog that swirls thickly around his feet when he walks.
The Avalon is a good enough place to stop at for a mug of ale on his way home. He’s been sitting there a while now, and there’s something about the atmosphere of the place that James has come to appreciate: it’s almost medieval, with a small coat of arms gracing the wall above the mantelpiece, and clean, scrubbed wooden tables surrounded by an air of comfortable silence.
The woman behind the counter has a mass of curly dark hair bound back with a red scarf. She sends over a tray bearing a jug of ale and a thick slice of plum cake.
‘Cake is hardly my usual,’ James says, glancing toward her.
She grins. ‘Compliments of the house.’
He gives her a smile and a nod of thanks, watching as she refills the mug of the customer sitting at the counter in front of her. The young man is wearing a red cloak; an odd colour for a man, but it seems to sit right on him. He thanks her politely, and James sees her smile turn wistful.
He speaks to the boy a few times in the coming days. He’s always received with politeness, with a gaze that’s dimmed with forgetfulness.
1.
Voices are speaking incoherently, barely audible. James opens his eyes and Groves’s face floats above him, as indistinct as the voices.
‘Commodore? Andrew, he’s awake!’
In a moment, Gillette’s face is hovering alongside Groves’s. James blinks, and their faces become a little more distinct. He tries to sit up, but a crippling pain shoots through his left side, forcing him to fall back against the bed.
‘Theo? What’s happened?’ His mouth tastes like cotton.
He sees them exchange anxious glances. ‘You took a bullet in the chest, James,’ Groves says, resting a hand on James’s shoulder to keep him from trying to move again.
Theo and Andrew give him a blow-by-blow account of the battle that’s still raging. The slave-runners have three ships, and even the hundred guns of the Dauntless would not have been enough to ward them off had the Black Pearl not been their ally. Groves says something about how shrewd James had been to offer Sparrow a privateer’s commission.
‘Pity about Sparrow,’ Gillette responds. ‘Who would have thought he would be so valiant, right until the end?’
2.
The bed he’s lying on does not have the starched cotton sheets of the Dauntless. These are luxurious sheets made of soft satin, and coloured the palest lavender.
He throws the sheets off and pulls on his breeches. Outside, the sea is unmoving. Strange colours swirl beneath the surface of the water, like the fins of mythical creatures. Lightning flashes silently in the grey sky. The rain is slow, an invisible drizzle.
He knows he’ll find Jack at the helm. ‘Never did see lightning with no thunder to keep it company,’ Jack says calmly when he sees James approaching. One of his hands is curled around a spoke of the wheel, even though the water is stagnant and the Pearl is still.
James goes to him and falls to his knees, burying his face in the sash around Jack’s waist. ‘Don’t let me go to sleep again. Jack, please.’
Jack puts a hand on the crown of James’s head, and says nothing.
3.
Stagnant water smells like death, and James has smelt death more times than he wants to recall. The ship is surrounded by an unnaturally thick fog, becalmed in a strangely barren, unmoving stretch of water. There is no wind to fill the ship’s sails, and the smell of the water hits his nostrils every time he leans over the bulwark. It isn’t a particularly unpleasant smell in itself, but it reminds James of loss: an unremembered loss, or perhaps an impending one. It’s as if a bird were trapped inside his chest, wings beating against a too-small cage. Sometimes the bird is quiet, but he’s constantly aware of its silent desperation, the erratic beat of its heart.
4.
‘On your back,’ Jack orders gently. He fucks into James, kissing his mouth every time he makes a sound. Their locked fingers clench together tightly, Jack muffling his cry by biting at James’s shoulder.
Later, James lifts his head to look at him. ‘All right?’
Jack nods, pulling James back down.
They stay that way for a while, not moving even when a gust of wind blows the unbolted door open. James opens his eyes without lifting his head, and sees that nothing outside has changed. He knows without having to look up at Jack’s face that he’s looking too.
5.
‘I know it hurts,’ Jack tells him. ‘I know it hurts like there’s something sharp in your throat and you don’t know it, you just know that it hurts to breathe.’
‘Don’t let me wake up again, Jack. For the love of god, don’t let me wake up again.’
6.
The Dauntless has all but defeated the slave ships, but this isn’t James’s battle anymore.
It’s surprisingly easy to pull himself out of his sick bed, stumble to the bulwark and let himself fall into the sea. There's a shout from behind him, but it doesn't matter.
The hull of the Pearl is almost out of the water now, her bow beneath the waves as her stern rises high.
James pulls himself aboard the sinking ship and lashes himself to the mast.
7.
Raindrops cling to the rigging of the Pearl, glittering like diamonds. Jack turns from the helm. ‘Look.’
Ahead of the Pearl is a shimmering curtain of light, ancient, thin as a veil. James moves closer to Jack as the Pearl drifts slowly toward the aurora.
‘You have to go,’ Jack says.
James doesn’t protest, and they don’t say goodbye.
When he plunges in, the water is cold only for a moment. Drowning in forgetfulness is swift.
9.
There’s more cake at the Avalon that day. It’s rich with burnt rum, sharp and sweet-sour in James’s mouth.
Behind the counter, the girl with the dark hair is smiling at something the boy in the red cloak is saying.
The door is pushed open, and James smells the sea again.
~end