Admirable Lies
Title: Admirable Lies
Author:
saime_joxxers
Rating: PG
Pairing: James/ Elizabeth
Disclaimer: The usual, with fries on the side. I came up with the explanation I use for James's alive-ness, but I didn't even invent THAT. I just twisted it to my own (and hopefully other Norrington fans') advantage. ^^ And the idea about Norrington getting to interrogate Jack is owed in a BIG part to
tammsla
Warnings: A bit of violence, and maybe some kissing at some point. Nothing much to worry about.
Summary: " Already she was staring at him as if he had played some cruel joke on her, as if every single ounce of civility they had ever possessed had never existed. He deserved it, he knew, and yet something told him that it was not only his betrayal with the heart that put such a lifeless, pained expression on her face."
A/N: I think I'm going to take another part to write this. It was either make this one slightly shorter than usual, but not make you guys wait for an eternity, or do it in three parts with the third part a MILLION pages long, and not have it ready for ages... soyeah. It's a bit shorter than usual, but not too bad, I think.
Beta Reader: Teh amazing
tammsla
If he died this very day, James knew that his life would be considered a tragedy.
He was determined to change that fact. It was his single goal, the driving force behind his existence, now that the fog had cleared and he saw his original hope at obtaining redemption as misguided and ineffectual. Receiving his uniform from Beckett had proven to be as shallow and empty as everything else he had ever tried, and once again Norrington found himself back at the beginning. Back at Elizabeth. And he had come to the conclusion that he needed her desperately.
All his attempts to forget her had failed, and he could not longer hope to pretend that his affections for her were over. The burning desire he felt, the adoration and admiration he reserved only for her, was more than some schoolboy infatuation that was dependent on feelings. There were times he found himself frustrated and angry with her, but his devotion never wavered. What James felt was love, unconditional, unending love. Any denial he had once entertained had been broken down, and he knew that his condition was hopeless. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He had spent the week searching for any news of Elizabeth, his desperation to find her mounting daily. Truthfully, he was beginning to despair that his long days of inquiring after her would ever come to fruition. The former governor’s daughter was an unpopular subject amongst the citizens of Port Royal. Her father had been dearly loved, and the news of her connections with piracy was seen as a crippling disgrace to his memory. Most people were quite content to act as if she had died along with Governor Swann, ignoring any hint of rumour that might have reached their ears.
Those who were inclined to share whatever information they possessed with a complete stranger were unreliable. Their news came from circles of gossip, word of mouth passed through the grape-vine by their ‘aunt’s step-son’s brother’ or some equally obscure connection. Much of what reached James’s ears was pure fantasy, the tales of her kingship over the pirates escalating beyond belief to a ridiculous degree. But there were grains of truth in every lie, and he was determined to piece them together. However long it might take.
xxxx
“How long will you be working for Cutler- Lord Beckett, Admiral Norrington?”
“However long it may take.”
“However long what may take, James?”
Forgiveness.
But his mouth did not echo his mind’s scathing retort, instead offering an answer that was somehow both more and less truthful at the same time. “I’m not sure.”
The governor’s heavy hand on his shoulder made James turn around and make eye contact with the man for the first time since the long minutes of silence that had preceded their last words. An ashamed scowl was fixed on the now-Admiral’s face, his intense grey-green eyes trying to locate the earned disappointment in Swann’s gaze… but he was unable to. All he saw was concern, pity, kindness, and, most baffling of all, hope.
He wondered how Weatherby could stare at him like that, without a scrap of jaded cynicism despite everything he had been through, with Elizabeth’s running away to sea, the part of the powerless figurehead he was forced to play beneath Beckett’s absolute dominance. If anyone had the right to be bitter, it was Swann. And yet he held his head proudly, going so far as to smile up at James and slip his arm around the taller man’s shoulder in a paternal embrace that the Admiral could not hope to let go unrequited. How could he be proud of him, still? Why would he continue to show support for someone who was willingly serving beneath a tyrant, a pirate masquerading as a naval officer, a scoundrel pretending to be a gentleman? It was mind-blowing, for James had related his transgressions to the older man only moments ago, and was already forgiven. Perhaps had been forgiven before he had even opened his mouth.
“Have you told Elizabeth?” Weatherby asked quietly as he drew James from the window and led him to a chair.
“I haven’t seen her since the Isla Cruces,” he answered, sinking down into the offered seat with a low sigh.”But that wasn’t what you were asking, was it? No, I haven’t told her. I doubt her reaction will be quite as favourable towards me as yours was. But I will tell her.”
The Governor took a seat across from James, sitting down slowly, laboriously so that his motions betrayed the age his boyish eyes refused to display. Without his wig, his short grey hair thinning and sticking up in various directions, he cut an almost comical sight as he leaned forwards to plant his elbows on his knees, tilting his head with his chin in his hand to stare across the room as he addressed Norrington. “I know you will,” he said with a smile, the melancholy twisting of his mouth the only evidence of his hardships that James could discern.”Give her my love.”
“I’m sure you will not need me to relay the message, sir,” James stated formally. He fully intended to bring Elizabeth back to her father the moment he found her, or perhaps bring Weatherby to her.
Weatherby shrugged and straightened, his sitting position short lived as he rose from his chair and grabbed his wig and jacket from the pile on James’ cot where he had abandoned them upon entering the Admiral’s quarters. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to that infernal paper work. And get some rest, James. You look like you need it,” he ran his fingers beneath his own eyes to demonstrate the reasoning behind his last statement.
Frowning, James followed suit and probed at the dark circles beneath his eyes, twisting to fix his haggard reflection with a scrutinizing gaze as he stared at the mirror on the wall behind him. Though he was once again clean-shaven, his dark hair trimmed short in anticipation of the wig he would soon be donning, the governor was right. When he turned back to bid Swann goodbye, it became clear to James that he had already shown himself out. His whispered farewell spoke only to the back of the closed door.
James shook his head, taking Weatherby’s advice despite the fact he knew he would never actually fall asleep, stretching out on his cot. He tugged his shirt off and replaced it with a blanket, curling up beneath it and shutting his eyes against the image of the leering Aztec coin that rested once again against his skin… burning where every other part of him was numb. But it would only be until he after he spoke to Elizabeth. He could not live -and he certainly could not die- without her forgiveness. Or at least without seeking it.
xxxx
Sometimes it seemed that seeking after Elizabeth was like trying to catch the wind.
However hard he worked, James could just not seem to make any headway. She continually slipped through his fingers and picking the grains of truth out of the horribly distorted mess of gossip was a near impossibility. Norrington knew that he would never find the answers he was looking for if he continued to be content with taking vague answers from those who really had no reason to know anything of consequence. He needed to be more active in his searching. Even if it meant revisiting Tortuga, revisiting the ends of the earth…
But, as it turned out, answers came to him.
“Why, if it isn’t Captain Sparrow! Free as a bird, I see.”
“That’s a horrible joke, mate. And I’m only in town for a short while, so try not to let the entire world know. Unless you inform the ladies, in which case I may find it in my gracious heart to offer you pardon for your actions.”
Though the men were not speaking very loudly, the familiarity of the second voice caught James’ attention even as he attempted to feign interest in the completely falsified tales of piracy and the Pirate King that the street-side vendor attempted to convey to him. His attention was immediately diverted. Thanking the still-speaking man, cutting him off mid-sentence, Norrington stepped away and into the crowd lining the market, straining for another snippet of conversation. How he had managed to hear Sparrow in the first place was a mystery, for the streets were noisy and full of people.
Through the din of hawkers calling out their wares, gossiping women gathered around flower vendors, and the rowdy men leaving the taverns after a mid-day drink, James knew there was no way that he would be fortunate enough to catch a snippet of conversation a second time. But he had gathered a general bearing on the sound even in those few fleeting lines of conversation, and he pressed determinedly through the throngs of people, dodging and weaving and occasionally pushing right past them without so much as an apology.
Once Norrington had Sparrow in his sights, it was less a search than a hunt.
xxxx
If there was one thing Norrington learned about his employer, it was that any search the man conducted would have been better termed as a hunt. There was never any doubt that it was only a matter of time before he sunk his teeth into his victim; that he was not so much seeking as pursuing. His intentions were always clear, his dominance established far before the trembling quarry was dragged before his feet. Lord Beckett never left any doubt of the roles played, in which he was the hunter and anyone else his prey.
Truthfully, the infamous Davy Jones was his bloodhound, and James was simply the man holding the leash.
And what a dismal task it was.
“Get back! Give him some air!”
James brushed past Davy Jones and members of the crew, refusing to acknowledge the chill that started in his shoulder blades and slipped down his spine, attributing it instead to the stiff ocean breeze that whirled around him despite the fact he could not feel it. He had spent years hardening himself against such tales, of the locker and Jones himself, and to see the creature whose heart James had stolen was unnerving at best. But he squared his shoulders as he bent down to examine the corpse, needing only a fleeting glance to see that that man was not going to live. Already the light was fading from his eyes, a tiny trickle of blood pouring from his mouth hinting at severe internal bleeding. James pulled back, straightening and staring furiously at the small circle that had begun to gather around the dying man.
“What happened here?” he demanded. “Did anyone see what happened?” His voice carried easily across the deck, commanding more heads to turn in his direction. Hated, loved, respected, feared; it did not matter, but when he spoke he expected an answer.
“He broke his neck, Admiral,” someone called.
“Yes, I can see that.” Though it was not a complete snap, evidently not severe enough to grant a quick and painless death, the man’s head was twisted, his face fixed in agony as he struggled to fill his lungs. “But my question is still not answered.” He scanned the faces nearest him, his hard grey-green eyes belaying none of the insecurities that plagued him while behind closed doors. Whether his gaze met that of a human, or the more grotesque, unnatural hybrid of aquatic creature and man, he did not flinch. He had his suspicions that Jones’s crew had something to do with the matter.
“Do you fear death?” The last syllables of the words were harshly spoken, enunciated so powerfully that it cut through the silence and immediately drew the attention of all. This time James did flinch, whirling around to see the captain of the Dutchman leaning over the wounded man, whispering into his ear.
“Step away from him, Captain.” James wondered if this was not some sort of twisted way of exacting revenge, picking off his marines one by one while he stood helpless to defend them. It was not the only time Jones and he had confronted one another, and this incident only an extension of the first.
“Ah, Admiral. You’re not going to deny this poor man a chance for redemption, are you? Look at him, the wretch.”
“What you offer is not redemption. It is prolongation, nothing more.” If anyone could honestly claim to know that, it was James. “ I repeat: step away from him. That’s an order.” James’s patience was wearing thin. He grit his teeth. His hand gripped tightly at the hilt of his sword and he pulled it from its scabbard. Though he knew it would inevitably do him no good, he pointed it at Jones, unwilling to suffer the creature’s impudence any longer.
“Then you are ordering him to die.” Jones countered, ignoring the sword like the inconsequential piece of metal it was. The Captain could not die.
But then again, neither could James. “So be it. I will not have you tempting him with your false promises.” The man, expiring slowly on the deck, would not fall as he had fallen.
“When you serve on my crew one day, I will show you as the hypocrite you are, Admiral.”
“We shall see.”
Jones narrowed his eyes and gave a slow nod as if accepting James’s words as a challenge. “Indeed we shall.” Without warning, he slipped his tentacled hand beneath the man’s head and braced his chest with his claw. With a jerk of the captain’s arm, the man’s neck snapped and he was dispatched. Jones subsequently stood and stepped away from the corpse, wiping his hands on his coat like he had touched some form of filth. “Are you satisfied?” he inquired, spitting salty seawater across James’s immaculately polished boots with every syllable.
Norrington spun around to leave, sheathing his sword in a single fluid movement.
“Don’t turn your back on me, James Norrington!”
James didn’t respond. “Perform the proper burial,” he commanded, pushing once again through the ring of people, dispersing them. “And then back to your stations.”
xxxx
Each step James took brought him a little closer to having Sparrow in his grip once more.
The pirate was not unaware of this, for every wary glance he sent over his shoulder inevitably connected with Norrington, who made no attempt to hide his intentions. However, without a wig or a uniform, without a beard or being covered with mud, he was a different incarnation of himself that Jack had never seen and was therefore not immediately recognized. Even as James drew closer, Jack did not risk breaking out into an open run, which would attract the attention of the minimal guard watching over the busy market, instead choosing to turn into the latticework of alleyways and side-streets that branched off from the main road.
A bad move on his part, for James knew every inch of Port Royal’s map, and now there were simply fewer witnesses to contend with. Finally, fed up with this apparent stranger dogging his every move, Sparrow whirled around, his sabre left in its scabbard to avoid a fight if possible. It was not possible. James was quicker than the pirate, and though Jack could have easily fought off any lesser man, the short, violent scuffle ended up with Jack pressed against the wall, one of James’s hand clutched onto his collar, the other occupied in pressing a naked sword-blade to his neck. “If you want your throat to be in working order the next time you visit a tavern, you will answer me plainly: Where is Elizabeth?”
Jack was taken aback by the question for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing and mouth twitching as he struggled to digest the implications of what was happening. James smiled wryly as the pirate came to terms with everything, evidently fitting the voice and the face with his memory of the past.
“Norrington. Seems you’re... not dead. Now how’d you manage that, I wonder.”
“The same as anyone else, “James responded. “But that is of little consequence. My question, if you please.” Shifting his grip on his sword and adjusting it on Sparrow’s neck, he never once wavered in his constant, condescending smile.
Jack eventually answered.
James gave him a twenty minute head start before calling the marines.
xxxx
The marines were still struggling with the captured prisoners, but for a moment, Elizabeth was in his arms. For just a single, brief moment that was over far too quickly but felt as if it had lasted forever, she was pressed tightly against him, his name still on her lips. His arms were wrapped around her back, holding her, and though it did not last long, she was holding him too before dropping her hands to her sides and pulling away uncomfortably. He couldn’t help but smile. He had feared the worst, Cutler Beckett’s domination of the seas making it dangerous to sail on any pirate ship, and yet she was here, of all places.
“Thank God you’re alive!” he exclaimed. “Your father will be overjoyed to know you’re safe.” Not only her father would be overjoyed, as James’s eyes spoke volumes of the relief he felt, his face unable- or unwilling- to display anything but the most potent delight. He had so much to tell her, and his smile slipped only for a moment as he thought of how she would take it. Already she was staring at him as if he had played some cruel joke on her, as if every single ounce of civility they had ever possessed had never existed. He deserved it, he knew, and yet something told him that it was not only his betrayal with the heart that put such a lifeless, pained expression on her face.
“My father is dead,” she said, her voice as quiet as the haunted expression in her honey eyes.
“No,” James snapped immediately, his expression slipping into shock. “That can’t be true. He returned to England.”
“Did Lord Beckett tell you that?” she asked him harshly.
He wanted to return that it had been the Governor himself who had first expressed that desire to James just before the Admiral had set off to take command of the Dutchman. That Beckett had simply repeated what Weatherby had already told Norrington. But he couldn’t help but remember the hollow smile the Governor had worn, the ever deepening lines in his face and the cruel smile that curled Cutler’s lips when he assured James of the intentions he had to send Elizabeth’s father back to the land of his birth. It couldn’t be true, and yet Elizabeth spoke with complete confidence that it was true.
James felt as if the Empress was pitching as if in a storm. The deck felt suddenly unstable and he struggled to maintain his balance, tottering slightly on his feet. Constricted, his chest seemed ready to explode at any second, his usually strong limbs shaky and unreliable. He could feel nothing except the emptiness, but it weighed more heavily on him than a million pounds of water. And now Elizabeth was the Captain, and Jones was approaching her, still voicing his scepticism on the matter.
“Tow the ship,” James commanded sternly, regaining command of his voice just in time. “Put the prisoners in the brig, and the captain shall have my quarters.” He half expected Jones to rebel, to continue walking towards Elizabeth, but the creature of the sea made no move to do so, sneering momentarily at James before stalking off to follow orders.
“Thank you, but I prefer to stay with my crew.”
James was taken aback. He had betrayed her once; did she now expect him to throw himself on her the moment he offered her security? Was he as bad, or even worse in her eyes, than the brutish pirates around her?
“Please, Elizabeth, I swear I did not know,” he implored her. It was only out of concern for her safety that he was offering such an arrangement. Only for her.
“Know what? What side you chose? Well, now you do.” She stepped back towards her men, and James winced.
“Five minutes, Miss Swann. That’s all I ask,” he reached out to place his fingers lightly on the sleeve of her oriental style garment, letting his shoulders slump and sighing resignedly as she pulled away from his touch. “I am afraid I will have to insist.” James made no motion to pull her closer to him, instead ordering his men to take the other pirates to the brig. And then they were left alone, the silence between them no less tense for the creaking of sails and the thunderous booms of the cannons. Elizabeth’s eyes were daggers, and James looked away, taking a few steps towards the railing, expecting her to follow.
A moment passed, then two, and Miss Swann drew up beside him, her furious gaze now locked onto his boots as he stood immaculate and stern, one hand resting lightly on the wood of the rail. He stared out onto the sea, the silver clouds thickly meshed together so as not to let any unfiltered light escape, weakening the moon’s rays so effectively that he was never plunged beneath one, so that any of his precautions to stay in the shadow of the sails were unwarranted. He had experienced too many conversations beside the rail of a ship, one as a fine man, one as a pirate… and now? He wasn’t sure. But he knew what he had to do, and no amount of delaying the inevitable was ever going to make it any easier to say.
“Elizabeth,” he half expected her to chastise him for the use of her first name, but she thankfully did not. “You must understand that, whatever you may think of me, I will only ever promise you one thing. That is this: I will never wilfully harm you. I am not saying that I will not hurt you, or that you will somehow escape pain, but whatever my intent, it was not to see you like this. It is a consequence of my foolish choices, but I would take it back if I could.”
“They’re just words, James! All you are is empty words! Words will not change what you did. Words will not bring my father back! You constantly profess some sort of undying devotion, and yet you have never once proven it. Will saved me from the pirates, not you. Even Jack saved me from drowning! You’re so honourable, James.” She said that like it was a curse, her face twisted in grief and fury. “You’re all about duty and serving your country, yet you choose me over that every single time. And then you go on and on about how much you love me, and the moment you have a chance to go back to duty, you run for it. The worst thing is, you don’t even know, do you? You think you’re excelling at everything, when in reality you’re just floundering around like a lost puppy.”
Her words were getting increasingly hysterical, punctuated by sobs, and suddenly, with fists beating against him. James stood firm through the onslaught, though his face was a picture of his bleeding heart. She was hitting too close to the mark, and though he could not feel anything but the empty thuds, painless and dull against his chest, it could hardly have hurt him more if she was wielding knives in her hands. He made no attempt to stop her violence, letting her rage against him instead. When she was finished, she was barely aware of anything. Completely at her wits’ end, she buried her face into his shoulder and sobbed.
He let her stay as long as she needed, raising a trembling hand to stroke her hair and sooth her when she clung tightly to his vest. Her words were incoherent, muffled by the layers of clothes she was pressed against. But he did hear one thing, a quiet, heart-wrenching accusation. “You’ve never even kissed me, Admiral Norrington.”
She was right. He never had.
“Elizabeth, I-“
As if his words had brought her broken mind back to reality, she pulled away from him, drying her swollen eyes unceremoniously on her sleeve. “Your five minutes is up, James.”
“But-“
“James… you have duties.”He reached out for her, but she was already turned away from him, hugging herself in the light of the moon that he was still hiding from. He stopped before his fingers entered the silver, though he would have done anything to replace her arms with his. “And so do I. Admiral, please allow me to return to my crew.”
“Of course, Captain Swann, if that is what you wish.”
“It is,” she replied without looking back at him.
“Very well,” he replied. If that is what she chose, it was what he would give her. “Elizabeth?”
“Yes, James?”
“Do you forgive me?” Did she love him?
“I… I don’t know.”
Neither did he.