First post
Just a little ficlet that I had almost forgotten about; certain slash-minded friends of mine would insist on turning this into something that it's not (although I'm not averse to a well-written slash fic; I just can't write them myself).
Summary: Jack Sparrow was not always a pirate; James Norrington was not always a naval officer. A look at life before the sea.
Disclaimer: James and Jack both belong to the Mouse. Although how a Mouse turned into a slaveholder is beyond me; I was under the impression that mice were supposed to be cute little fuzzy creatures with absolutely no ambitions toward egomaniacal dictatorship. But whatever.... Sir Thomas is, regrettably, mine. You may borrow him with permission, and bang him about as much as you wish; I'm certainly not very fond of him.
He did not know where he was going. He had gotten to the stable before his father by the grace of God, and after that everything was a blur. He could not remember how many days he had been on the road; he was not even sure what road he was on. The only thought that was clear was that he had to get away; he couldn't stay, couldn't bear even one more hour in his father's house. His mother was dead; there was no longer any reason for him to tolerate Sir Thomas's drunken rages.
His horse, luckily for him, had a more definite idea of where to go. It was a three day ride from Oxford to the Huntingdon Estate in Northampton, and Ares, like any sensible animal, knew where to find food and shelter for both himself and his rider. James was ready to drop out of the saddle by the time they crested the hill, and the sight of Huntingdon Hall, familiar and well-loved, nearly brought tears to his eyes.
"Good boy, Ares," he murmured, patting the horse. "Good boy."
Jack Huntingdon was woken by the pounding on his door.
"What is it?" he called groggily. The door opened; a stable hand stood in the doorway, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.
"Master Jack... it's young Mr. Norrington." Jack sat up. James Norrington was one of his closest friends; if anything had happened to him...
"What of him?" he asked, suddenly very much awake.
"Sir, 'e's just arrived - 'e looks 'alf-dead, sir." Jack swore.
"I'll be there in a minute - don't tell Mother or Catherine." He pulled on a robe, silently thanking God for the fact that his father and brother were away at Court. He was not sure how they would have reacted to this, but he was reasonably certain that they would not have understood what had driven the youngest Norrington to seek refuge here. As it was, he was the man of the house; it was up to him to decide the younger man's fate.
James was seated in the front parlor when Jack arrived, surrounded by worried, fussing servants. The younger man looked exhausted; his face was drawn and haggard and an ugly bruise was visible on his face. Jack took one look at him and dismissed the servants; this was not going to be pretty.
"What happened?" he asked quietly. James took a deep breath.
"I couldn't stand it any longer. He was drunk again; he came home angry, and it only got worse as the night wore on. He started in on me and - I hit back. It stunned him, I think; he wasn't expecting it. I - I ran; Ares brought me here."
"Smart horse," Jack said, kneeling at his friend's side to get a good look at the bruise. As he did so, his gaze fell on James's wrist; there, too, a bruise was forming. He pushed up the sleeve of James's green doublet; the bruising continued up the arm as far as he could see.
"How much further does this go?" he asked tightly.
"All the way up," James admitted, wincing. "He had gotten pretty far on before I broke." Jack rolled the sleeve back down.
"How hard did you hit him?" he asked.
"I think I broke his nose," the younger man replied wearily.
"Good," Jack said shortly. He got up and went to the bellpull. A footman answered; Jack looked both ways down the hallway before speaking.
"Mr. Norrington is not here, do you understand me Henry? Tell all the stablehands - they never saw him arrive. If Sir Thomas should come looking for him, he's not here." The footman's eyes widened, but he nodded. James had practically grown up on the Huntingdon Estate; they were not going to turn him over, not to Sir Thomas the Drunkard.
"Good man," Jack said. "Now send Mathilda to me; it looks like we're going to need her."
James was shown to a set of guest quarters after having his wounds treated by the clucking, tsking Mathilda, the estate wise-woman and herbalist. Ares was likewise taken care of; Jack inwardly worried at the wisdom of keeping the horse in the stables even as the thoroughbred ate. There was nothing for it, however; he could not turn Ares out any more than he could do it to James, and so he would just have to find a way to keep both of his charges hidden. And if Sir Thomas should happen along... well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
As it happened, Sir Thomas did not come. The inhabitants of the Hall waited with baited breath for days, then weeks, but nothing happened; no one came. Jack went so far as to suggest that the older man was ashamed of being beaten off by his adolescent son; James replied sourly that the man was probably in London, preparing to disown him.
Either way, James could not stay at Huntingdon Hall forever. Sooner or later, someone would come looking for him, and he did not have the means to buy himself a townhouse in London as his brother had done. Going back was out of the question; he was left with one option. Jack was not surprised to find James tacking his horse the same morning that Jack was to leave for Bristol to return to his duties as a Lieutenant in the British Navy.
"Coming along, then?" he asked. James smiled tightly.
"There isn't much choice." Jack nodded assent.
"No there isn't."
"It's the tradition anyway; I'll just be starting a little early," James replied, tightening the cinch on the saddle. Jack put a hand on his arm.
"Easy there; you'll want him able to breathe." James's hands were white.
"Do you think he'll have put a price on my head?" he asked in a voice that was meant to be casual, but came out rather strained.
"Who, the horse?" Jack asked lightly. He smiled at the younger man, who was giving him a strange look.
"He's not likely to, if only for the fact that it'd be embarassing to admit that both of his sons rebelled on him. Might lose him the few allies he's got. No, I think Sir Thomas will keep very quiet about this little fiasco. Come on; the Captain'll have our hides if we miss the boat." James smiled a little more relaxedly; they set off just as the sun rose in the sky.
Epilogue:
Jack Huntingdon disappeared two years later when his ship was attacked by pirates. Sir Thomas Norrington, drunkard and all-around bully, was killed in a carriage accident on his way to Northampton. The news would not reach James until too late that his brother was the new baronet. Curiously enough, a pirate named Jack Sparrow made his first appearance shortly after Jack Huntingdon's disappearance; James Norrington went on to become a Commodore in the Royal Navy.
Summary: Jack Sparrow was not always a pirate; James Norrington was not always a naval officer. A look at life before the sea.
Disclaimer: James and Jack both belong to the Mouse. Although how a Mouse turned into a slaveholder is beyond me; I was under the impression that mice were supposed to be cute little fuzzy creatures with absolutely no ambitions toward egomaniacal dictatorship. But whatever.... Sir Thomas is, regrettably, mine. You may borrow him with permission, and bang him about as much as you wish; I'm certainly not very fond of him.
He did not know where he was going. He had gotten to the stable before his father by the grace of God, and after that everything was a blur. He could not remember how many days he had been on the road; he was not even sure what road he was on. The only thought that was clear was that he had to get away; he couldn't stay, couldn't bear even one more hour in his father's house. His mother was dead; there was no longer any reason for him to tolerate Sir Thomas's drunken rages.
His horse, luckily for him, had a more definite idea of where to go. It was a three day ride from Oxford to the Huntingdon Estate in Northampton, and Ares, like any sensible animal, knew where to find food and shelter for both himself and his rider. James was ready to drop out of the saddle by the time they crested the hill, and the sight of Huntingdon Hall, familiar and well-loved, nearly brought tears to his eyes.
"Good boy, Ares," he murmured, patting the horse. "Good boy."
Jack Huntingdon was woken by the pounding on his door.
"What is it?" he called groggily. The door opened; a stable hand stood in the doorway, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.
"Master Jack... it's young Mr. Norrington." Jack sat up. James Norrington was one of his closest friends; if anything had happened to him...
"What of him?" he asked, suddenly very much awake.
"Sir, 'e's just arrived - 'e looks 'alf-dead, sir." Jack swore.
"I'll be there in a minute - don't tell Mother or Catherine." He pulled on a robe, silently thanking God for the fact that his father and brother were away at Court. He was not sure how they would have reacted to this, but he was reasonably certain that they would not have understood what had driven the youngest Norrington to seek refuge here. As it was, he was the man of the house; it was up to him to decide the younger man's fate.
James was seated in the front parlor when Jack arrived, surrounded by worried, fussing servants. The younger man looked exhausted; his face was drawn and haggard and an ugly bruise was visible on his face. Jack took one look at him and dismissed the servants; this was not going to be pretty.
"What happened?" he asked quietly. James took a deep breath.
"I couldn't stand it any longer. He was drunk again; he came home angry, and it only got worse as the night wore on. He started in on me and - I hit back. It stunned him, I think; he wasn't expecting it. I - I ran; Ares brought me here."
"Smart horse," Jack said, kneeling at his friend's side to get a good look at the bruise. As he did so, his gaze fell on James's wrist; there, too, a bruise was forming. He pushed up the sleeve of James's green doublet; the bruising continued up the arm as far as he could see.
"How much further does this go?" he asked tightly.
"All the way up," James admitted, wincing. "He had gotten pretty far on before I broke." Jack rolled the sleeve back down.
"How hard did you hit him?" he asked.
"I think I broke his nose," the younger man replied wearily.
"Good," Jack said shortly. He got up and went to the bellpull. A footman answered; Jack looked both ways down the hallway before speaking.
"Mr. Norrington is not here, do you understand me Henry? Tell all the stablehands - they never saw him arrive. If Sir Thomas should come looking for him, he's not here." The footman's eyes widened, but he nodded. James had practically grown up on the Huntingdon Estate; they were not going to turn him over, not to Sir Thomas the Drunkard.
"Good man," Jack said. "Now send Mathilda to me; it looks like we're going to need her."
James was shown to a set of guest quarters after having his wounds treated by the clucking, tsking Mathilda, the estate wise-woman and herbalist. Ares was likewise taken care of; Jack inwardly worried at the wisdom of keeping the horse in the stables even as the thoroughbred ate. There was nothing for it, however; he could not turn Ares out any more than he could do it to James, and so he would just have to find a way to keep both of his charges hidden. And if Sir Thomas should happen along... well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
As it happened, Sir Thomas did not come. The inhabitants of the Hall waited with baited breath for days, then weeks, but nothing happened; no one came. Jack went so far as to suggest that the older man was ashamed of being beaten off by his adolescent son; James replied sourly that the man was probably in London, preparing to disown him.
Either way, James could not stay at Huntingdon Hall forever. Sooner or later, someone would come looking for him, and he did not have the means to buy himself a townhouse in London as his brother had done. Going back was out of the question; he was left with one option. Jack was not surprised to find James tacking his horse the same morning that Jack was to leave for Bristol to return to his duties as a Lieutenant in the British Navy.
"Coming along, then?" he asked. James smiled tightly.
"There isn't much choice." Jack nodded assent.
"No there isn't."
"It's the tradition anyway; I'll just be starting a little early," James replied, tightening the cinch on the saddle. Jack put a hand on his arm.
"Easy there; you'll want him able to breathe." James's hands were white.
"Do you think he'll have put a price on my head?" he asked in a voice that was meant to be casual, but came out rather strained.
"Who, the horse?" Jack asked lightly. He smiled at the younger man, who was giving him a strange look.
"He's not likely to, if only for the fact that it'd be embarassing to admit that both of his sons rebelled on him. Might lose him the few allies he's got. No, I think Sir Thomas will keep very quiet about this little fiasco. Come on; the Captain'll have our hides if we miss the boat." James smiled a little more relaxedly; they set off just as the sun rose in the sky.
Epilogue:
Jack Huntingdon disappeared two years later when his ship was attacked by pirates. Sir Thomas Norrington, drunkard and all-around bully, was killed in a carriage accident on his way to Northampton. The news would not reach James until too late that his brother was the new baronet. Curiously enough, a pirate named Jack Sparrow made his first appearance shortly after Jack Huntingdon's disappearance; James Norrington went on to become a Commodore in the Royal Navy.