Norribeth story 2
Title: Stages of a Marriage
Chapter: 2/7
Author: Naja_Nivea
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Norrington, Elizabeth
Pairing: Elizabeth/Norrington,
Genre: Romance/Angst
Warning: AU for the second and third movie. Some mention of sexual situations but nothing graphic.
Status: WIP
Word Count: 2000 ish
Beta: None
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone you have heard of.
Summary: A series based on the premise that the two married, almost entirely from Elizabeth’s point of view.
Contentment
On his first trip away on patrol, boredom got the better of her and she redecorated the house. It had been more than clear that James spent very little time there, from the rooms of furniture still draped in dust covers to the complete lack of decorations. The only wall hangings were in his office and they were schematics of ships, guns, maps of the seas mounted on cork board, and a large piece of slate mounted to the wall. Everything was pale, bleached, and white washed wood. All in all, it unsurprisingly looked like a ship. She added colours everywhere and had the floors restained a dark ebony. The place was much more elegant and homey when she was done and she was quite proud. The only rooms she did not touch were his room, which she slept in, claiming the bed was more comfortable, and his study because she wasn’t sure what was decoration and what was actually work related.
She also left the library alone as well except for adding a chaise lounge and a softer rug. He had once told her that the whole reason he bought a house rather than staying with his men was because he needed some to keep his books. And he had tons of them, rows and rows of books about everything from Greek mythology to fencing to Shakespeare in addition of course to the entire cases of books about engineering, mathematics, naval tactics, and military history. Those she had expected, the others were quite a surprise. He books in at least four or five different languages and she looked forward to getting to read as many as she could. She would appeal to her father to send over for some books from their family library back in Britain, it wasn’t like anyone there was using them and judging from his taste, she knew there were many there James would enjoy.
She saw his new ship, the frigate Vengeance, arrive in the bay and she hurried down to the docks. He hardly ever took the Dauntless out now. He had told her that she was a ship of war not the hunt. She wasn’t quite sure what that meant but he seemed to like the Vengeance almost as much as he had loved the Interceptor. She stood with her yellow parasol and waved her hands frantically. He smiled and waved back much more sedately. She was disappointed that she had to wait almost 7 hours before he could come home. She took a carriage and met him at the fort. It was dark and she had him pressed against the carriage door with her mouth on his and her hands under his coat in mere moments. She had missed having his mainmast around and she didn’t care if the other officers stared. He somehow managed to climb into carriage backwards and pull her with him. The ride home was entirely more fun than the ride there.
She made him close his eyes when he walked in the door and when he looked around, his eyes were as big as saucers. She laughed and never could tell if he liked it or not. She thought that she spent the rest of the night laughing too.
Two days later, James came home before dark and threw a bundle of clothes at her, instructing her to change and meet him on the beach. She did so, surprised to see that the clothes were actually a midshipman’s uniform with a heavily padded glove. She ignored the cravat, not even knowing how to tie one and went to the beach. James stood out there in boots, breaches, a shirt, waistcoat, and one of his old commander’s coats. It looked odd to see him again without his white cuffs or turnbacks. He wore no hat, no wig, and also no cravat, she had learned that he despised wearing all of those articles. But more importantly he held two very slim swords in his large hands. With his natural hair tied into a chocolate brown queue at his neck with a black ribbon, she supposed that he was very handsome but not so handsome as Will.
He handed her one of the two weapons, “It’s a foil,” he explained.
She looked it over, vaguely recognizing it as the same type he used to train Will with. “You are going to teach me to sword fight?” She was quite surprised. He had taught her to load and fire a gun, when she was younger but never anything like this.
“If you wish.”
“Yes, but isn’t it unseemly, won’t people talk?” She teased.
“Do you see anyone else here?” He looked around the very private beach, deathly serious.
“No, but still. You would never teach me when I asked before, why now?”
“Because now your father is not around to say ‘no,’ and because no woman should be completely defenseless.” He sighed and looked her in the eyes. “You are smart and spirited and more clever than most of my officers but you survived that whole pirate fiasco by luck and Sparrows help, neither of which I would count on being there in the future. You are a fine prize to take hostage to try and cripple Port Royal and I would rather that you know how to take care of yourself if the need ever arose.” She wondered why he was so worried about her but wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Very well, Commodore, teach me.” He dropped his eyes then but began to mechanically instruct her. He was hard on her but at the end he hugged her and kissed her on the top of the head, telling her she had done a good job.
For the next few months it became their ritual, when he was home. If it were raining they would sit inside and play chess or read. If it were clear they would go to the beach and he would teach her to fight. He taught her to fence but told her it was a last resort because superior skill, technique, and just plain strength could always defeat her. He showed her hand to hand combat and some very dirty fighting techniques. He taught her how to dislocate a man’s knee with a kick and how to knee his groin and how to put the strength of her entire body behind a swing not just her arm. He also showed her where to hit to crush his windpipe and how to break a nose with her forehead or a glass bottle. But her best skill and the one he pushed her most at was knife work. She was quick and with a knife speed was more important than strength or technique. He instructed her to ignore gut jabs and never aim for the chest but instead to go for the small of the back under the ribs or under the knee caps. She should try to slice the back their ankles or the sides of the neck. He even showed her how to hit the heart through the ribcage. She often wondered how he had learned these things but his frequent nightmares and the lattice work of scars on his body paid testament to years and years of learning how to kill and survive.
One such Saturday afternoon, they were racing around the beach in the sweltering heat practicing swords. She knew she would never be that good with a sword but it was still quite fun. Even though it drove her to distraction when he would switch hands from left to right or use both at the same time to demonstrate something. She could barely do most things with her good and only. Both had dropped their coats and lost their shoes, stockings, and boots respectively. She finally called a halt to the bout after the fifth time in a row she had failed to block in the low guard and he had flicked his foil, smacking her in the hip and somehow having the blade curve around and hit her bum too, to teach her not to and walked straight towards the surf too cool off.
“Wait,” he called after her and took her hand, guiding her around to the small waterfall. “Fresh water,” he smiled and walked directly under it. She followed and had to agree it was better than a swim in salt water.
She looked at him, his hair wet and clothes plastered to him, and the slight tinge of pink to his check and nose from the heat and exertion and was content to kiss him. As soon as she was cool enough, she pulled him into the cave behind the waterfall and he more than kindly offered to kiss the welt he had given her on her hip, which did not entice her to be more careful of her low guard. She moaned his name in time with the lapping tide.
Two days later he left on his ship and six weeks after that she found out she was with child. Somehow it was more frightening than being taken prisoner by Barbossa. She sent him a letter informing him of her condition and by coincidence he was home less than a week later. She waited for him on the quay, feeling sick, weak, and pale. They had never spoken about children and she had no idea if he even wanted them. She had nothing to worry about. He all but ran up to her, holding her letter, dropped to his knees in front of her and kissed her belly then smiled up at her.
“Am I really going to be a daddy?” He asked, still smiling. She shook her head ‘yes’ and he picked her up and spun her around, laughing. It was the first time she had ever heard him laugh. That night he slept with his hand on her tummy and oddly she liked it.
Her pregnancy was as normal as any. At first food sickened her and he held her hair for her or brought her tea and toast to tempt her to eat. Later he rubbed her back or feet for her as she read to them. When he was gone he wrote to her every day and she would have letters upon letters to read when they were finally delivered. She only hoped he kept his promise of being there when the child was born. They argued sometimes too. In a fit of pique she accused him of loving the sea more than her and he didn’t deny it. Later she appreciated his honesty; it was an essential part of who he was. There had also been a few weeks where he had been in a dreadful mood for some reason. He was quiet and sullen and nothing she did could engage him. He spent most nights pacing around his study or walking back and forth on the beach. He had even gone out and gotten drunk with Mr. Gillette, which had not made her happy. But eventually he had gotten over whatever was bothering him and returned to his normal self.
They also quarreled over the sex of the child. She wanted a son, strong and tall that could be a pirate or sailor because a son would be free to do as he chose. He wanted a daughter, sweet and pretty to protect and love, because woman didn’t have to fight and see the evils of the world. When she was frightened he would soothe her and when she was sad he would comfort her. It never quite occurred to her to ask how he was doing.
On a cool night in November, the child was ready to be born. She was more frightened than she had ever been as the pains began to grow. James held her hand and pet her hair until the midwife and her assistants arrived and tried to shoo him away. She still wouldn’t let go of him even when the time drew close and her father and the doctor showed up. She threatened the doctor with bodily harm when the man tried to evict James by telling him to go to his study and pace around and get drunk like a normal expectant father. She felt like she would be safe as long as he was there. The doctor protested but one green glare and he backed down immediately. In the end, he sat behind her and supported her as she laboured.
At one point she burst into tears as the pain grew too much. He pushed her hair back and smiled at her, calm as ever, and said, “There is no reason for you to be scared. You faced skeletal pirates, walking the plank, and being trapped with Jack Sparrow any of which would make most men turn white with fear. After all of that how bad could this possibly be?”
She wanted to tell him just how bad it was but something about his reassurance and his faith in her gave her the strength to go on and within the hour she was holding a little girl. She cradled her daughter in her arms even as James cradled both of them from behind. They named her Mary Charlotte Norrington after his mother and hers.
He was strong and solid behind her and he kissed her sweat soaked cheek whispering, “I knew you could do it.” Her eyes misted over and she thought that she was content, even if it would have been better with Will.