The Commodore's Redemption
The Commodore's Redemption
By Sleepy Lotus
A new fic launching off of an old concept, started in my All's Fair In Love and Piracy. Almost underhandedly, James finally wins Elizabeth's hand in marriage. In a battle of wills, the Commodore finds a frighteningly worthy opponent. But love can be found in the most unexpected of circumstances. James/Eliz/slight Jack
Rated: T
Part I: Breaking Point
My freedom, James Norrington, is not a commodity.
I resent that you chose to treat it as such.
You will not be forgiven.
I suspect you already know this. You glance at me from across the dinner table, green eyes guarded. But I can tell you’re nervous. I’ve always had that effect on you.
We eat alone, my father trusting you enough to not even require a chaperone. You are Port Royal’s finest, after all. Commodore. A trusted friend and upstanding citizen. You would never take advantage of me...but you already have. What would my father think, could he know the way you behaved earlier this week?
After being at sea, taking meals with pirates, I feel strangely out of place in the finely furnished dining room. To be quite honest, my dear Norrington, I feel strangely out of place on land. My feet feel a certain resentment towards the soil; it failed to sway freely with the waves, as the deck of a ship.
At your behest, a lush feast lay out before us, a celebration for two. Though what exactly we celebrated perhaps lay in the eye of the beholder. You, my dear James, certainly thought we dined to commemorate our impending nuptials. And I?
I toasted to your impending undoing.
You seemed miles away, heading our feast at the far end of the table. Even from so far away, I could see you suffered from a bout of uneasy nerves. Perhaps it meant very little on the grand scale of things, but I could not suppress a surge of triumph, curling contentedly warm in my gut. Miss Elizabeth Swann, causing the great Commodore’s insides to twitch with her mere presence.
Perhaps I suffered from delusions of grandeur, but one must pass the time with something at these awful things.
We ate in silence, exchanging polite smiles across the void. My thoughts traveled to a man unable to eat so freely, a man who had saved my life. A man destined for the gallows tomorrow at noon. A pair of dark kohl-lined eyes that seemed as though they could bore through me, straight to my soul, danced in my mind. Peas in a pod, love. Was it so? Could a lady of Port Royal’s high society rub elbows so easily with a pirate?
I could.
I did.
I reveled in the experience, as I craved for the freedom once again.
My adventure on the sea left me scarred, not quite the same, a changed woman. Now I find myself craving many unladylike things. The sea breeze whipping through my hair, the handles of the helm worn smooth from years of loving use under my palms, a boy’s costume allowing the free movement of my legs and the weight of a sabre at my hip.
I dream of a deserted island all my own, a bonfire, a bottle of rum, and a pirate captain to share it with. Thinking of that little island lost amidst the clear blue waters unleashed a sensory memory upon me, so strong that my fork fell to my plate with an unrefined clatter. I hated it, that the thought of his calloused hands on my body could evoke such a reaction. Could leave behind such an ache in my bones, such a demanding desire.
“Are you alright, Elizabeth?” you asked me, tone curious, but eyes hooded with a darkness that smacked of suspicion.
“Quite alright,” I assured you, society smile plastered in place. “My hand just slipped, is all.”
Something lingered in your expression, James, and I knew you did not quite believe my lie. Though always the military man, before you also always acted something of the fool, mastering the mask of good natured oblivion. Only in the past few days did I glimpse a different side of you, punctuated by a certain predatory alertness. Perhaps it was a quality you never displayed when ashore, in times of peace and quiet, the only times I’d ever shared your company before.
Of course it would take a certain viciousness to survive at sea, to command a fleet of ships, leading a flock of men who would pounce at the first sign of weakness. Jack flaunted this attribute unabashedly; but you, dear James, took me a bit more by surprise. It would not be the first time this week.
We must go after Will,
We’d retreated to the side of the ship for a quiet exchange, not wanting to engage in a loud row in front of the crew. I was finally beginning to understand just how important it was for a ship captain to keep face.
You turned those green eyes to me, calculating, sizing me up in a way. I will go back for the boy, if I may make it a wedding present to you, Miss Swann. I’d pressed my lips together, considering your offer amidst the urgency to return for Will running wild in my mind. How dare you, I’d thought to myself. It was trading one life for another, in a way. Marrying you wouldn’t kill me immediately, James, but I feared it would be a stifling match. Amidst the fear coursing through my veins, I gripped the rail. Very well.Two words sealed my fate. You turned your proposal into a bargain, perhaps the most ungentlemanly act I’d ever witnessed you commit. Under the wig and all that military pomp and glory, you proved that day that you too are only a man.
Now I study you across the table, the way you sit with perfect posture, neatly consuming your meal. For as long as I’d known you, you always lived life exactly by the book. You embodied the perfect straight laced military man, nearly a machine in your actions and deportment. I began to wonder if there was anything left of a man who didn’t live for rules, who still remembered answering only to himself. Had such a man ever existed, beneath that snow white wig? I found myself wanting to find out.
As this curiosity set in, a knavish plan began to weave into my thoughts. What would you do, Commodore, were your fiancee to unsettle your center of gravity? Push your limits, remind you of freedom?
It could very well be the ticket to my own, I realized, and maybe even Jack’s.
Oh James,
I thought to myself. I hope I don’t break you.
Part II- A Challenge
I felt your gaze upon me, Elizabeth, even before I lifted my eyes to meet your honeyed brown stare. We sat in silence for most of the meal, me racking my brains for a subject to discuss, and nervously dismissing all that came to mind. As much as I’d resolved to not mention our adventure just passed, it suddenly seemed my best option.
“It will be a relief to finally hang that filthy pirate tomorrow,” I said casually, searching your expression for any sign of remorse. Just the thought of you spending time alone with that rapscallion Jack Sparrow ignited a fire of jealousy deep within me. I reflected back on the urge to slit the man naval to nose, after finding him in his first encounter with you, leaning over your half-naked body on the dock. The urge only grew stronger as time passed.
Darkness overtook your expression; you made no effort to hide it. “There’s no pride to be found in hanging a good man, James.” Your voice rang sharp through the space between us, cutting me internally.
I furrowed my brow at the attack. “Elizabeth, he’s a pirate!”
Raising a delicate hand up from your lap, you ticked the following reasons off on your long fingers, digits stabbing the air. “He saved me from drowning, helped me escape from Barbossa, saved Will from a slit throat...he’s a good man at heart. He just doesn’t see the world the same way as the rest of us. It’s not his nature to conform.”
“Because he’s a criminal,” I muttered under my breath.
“Because it’s a crime to be interesting,” you muttered under yours, just loud enough for my ears to catch. You raised one of those sculpted eyebrows, looking to me again. “If you listened to your own conscience, instead of the law, I think you would agree with me, James. Laws can be wrong, you know.”
“What would you have me do, Elizabeth?” I demanded, frustrated. “Set him free?”
Where I’d expected some form of retreat from her as I raised my voice, you simply met my challenge with a knowing smile. I should have known better than to treat you as though you were made of the same clay as most females. I already knew you to be a creature of exception. It was partly the reason why I wanted you, even if it was also the cause of a constant, niggling anxiety, present in the pit of my stomach. Not for the last time that night, I wondered if I’d dived in over my head after all.
“If our British justice is so civilized, then why not a fair trial, instead of hanging him immediately?”
“A trial, for a known criminal?”
“Did you personally catch him committing a crime?” you argued. “I dare say, the first crime you condemned him for was saving me from a watery grave.”
I shook my head. “Out of the question, my dear.”
Elizabeth, you went quiet, though your eyes burned holes directly through me. Fine work, James I told myself. The only dialogue of the night, ending in a bitter argument.
Once quite sure we were both finished with our meals, I made a peace offering. “Would you care to accompany me outside?”
Hesitantly, you nodded. We walked slowly across the wide veranda, enjoying the night air, the subtle fragrance of the flowers constantly in bloom in the tropical heat, and the silver moonlight guiding our way. “Since we are engaged, James, can I ask for an absolutely honest answer?” Your question caught me off guard, perhaps the sincerity therein.
“Of course,” I answered, suddenly wary. Something about you kept me en garde tonight, almost as though in some subtle, barely perceptible way, we were fencing with each other. Strangely, deep down, I found the challenge exciting.
“You promise to tell the truth?”
“I do.”
“Do you love me?” I found myself confused by the question. Why else would I have asked her to marry me? Why else would I have so desperately fought for her agreement to become my wife?
“Most dearly, Elizabeth. How can you ask such a thing?”
“There are some who would find me to be a perfect prize wife. I was just wondering if you were one of them.” You answered simply, but the words struck me like thrown stones. Had our fencing match escalated into a battle without me realizing it? Slowly, I was beginning to realize that perhaps I’d misjudged you, from the start. There was no doubt you were a fine lady, and yet there was a fierceness to your spirit I’d never encountered in any other. I wondered if you meant to toy with me, as a cat does a mouse?
“Are you trying to scare me off?” I asked with a small smile, studying you, my opponent. My fiancee.
You shrugged those slender shoulders; the moonlight caressing your skin bewitchingly, and my fingertips itched to do the same. “Just keeping you on your toes,” you openly admitted. It was seemingly flippant, but I knew you far better than that.
You looked out across the garden, out to the dark ocean. One could barely make out the breaking of the waves in the quiet of the night. Suddenly, I felt lost at sea, drifting away from you, although you stood at my side. Groping for some way to please you, I found myself saying, “I suppose it would be fair, to grant Sparrow a trial. Although I am reluctant to do so, he could be deported to England for a chance at justice.”
You turned to me, and your smile illuminated the night. “Oh James, do you mean it?”
I swallowed reluctantly, but nodded. “Regrettably, yes.”
Your slender fingers slipped into mine, squeezing them affectionately. “Now doesn’t your conscience feel better, too?” she asked, stepping in closer. Against the cool night air, the line of warmth of your body threatened to burn my skin.
“Was my honor ever in question?” I enquired, mesmerized by your sweet mouth that suddenly seemed to hover so close.
“No, James, I already knew you’re a good man,” you said softly. Unable to resist any longer, I cupped your cheek lightly, drawing you the last few inches into a gentle kiss. Elation coursed through my system as I felt your petal soft lips on mine, and the pleasant surprise of your tongue exploring just the outside of my bottom lip. It was that slick touch of tongue that undid me; I slid both hands into your hair, deepening the kiss into a soul searing affaire, something I’d wanted to do for quite some time. Your small hands played over my chest, going to my neck, pulling me closer still. It was as one hand moved up, fingers sliding beneath my wig, that I pulled away, immediately moving to set it straight on my head once again.
You regarded me with surprised eyes, and a small smile, nearly a smirk, really. “I apologize, Commodore, I did not mean to ruffle your feathers.” Raising one eyebrow, you retreated to a nearby door, into the drawing room. Fascinated, I watched her begin to fix her hair again, undoing the evidence of my exploring hands.
“I just...am not used to being without it,” I explained, rather awkwardly. You made me feel vulnerable, sweet Elizabeth, more so than anyone ever had in quite a long time. It was an alien sensation.
“Forgive me then; I was only curious about the man beneath the mask.”
“It’s not a mask, it’s a wig,” I protested.
“It is a mask,” you insisted. “Because whenever you wear it, you are the very picture of a proper British serviceman; it’s easier to slip into their rules, than make your own. It’s a mask you’ve worn for as long as I’ve known you.”
Your words cut deep, once again. At that moment I realized I’d forgotten life before the wig; she was right, it was an easy code of rules to slip into. For the first time, I wondered what I would be like without them. The world seemed to spin for a moment, unsteady under my feet, and I itched as that moment to take off the wig, toss it to the floor, and kiss you again.
What are you doing to me, Elizabeth Swann?
“Why?” you asked, leaning back against me. “Why is it such a crime to not be afraid of ourselves?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, meeting your intense gaze in the mirror. I studied this woman in my arms, this siren drawing me in with the sweetness of her voice. Was it all an illusion? Appearances can be deceiving, and at that moment I wondered if I’d underestimated you greatly. Oversimplified you. Idealized your beauty on a pedestal. I wanted to pose the same question you asked me: Do you really love me? I found I had not the courage to hear the answer.
I faced down pirates and the wild frontier of the high seas without batting an eyelash, but this delicate woman caused the ground beneath my feet to shift, to sway listlessly, throwing me off balance. I was not a man who enjoyed spontaneity; I thrived on executing the well organized plan. But there was a challenge in your eyes tonight, Elizabeth, a challenge to question all that I knew, a certain defiance that captivated me. It was almost as though without a word, your eyes asked, do you accept? Do you dare? I dared.
As I leaned down to take your lips once again, I found myself thinking What have you gotten yourself into, James Norrington?
Part III- Uncontrollable Beauty
Well, commodore, I am by far a more honest man than anyone will ever admit. In this spirit I will honestly say, I do not envy where you stand at this moment, one single bit. Even here in the dank dinky jail cell in the Fort of Port Royal, I do not. Because you, brave, stupid, commodore, have your hands full.
Maybe you even know it.
Oh alright, so maybe I lied a little. I do that a lot too, and everyone is always more than happy to hold it against me. I do envy where you stand, because by the dying sound of the orchestra, and the garbled mumblins of that old coot of the cloth, I can tell at this very moment you are standing next to her.
Now, I do not envy the circumstances under which you are standing there. That whole business, that fool’s noose, that ring of death. No, none of that is for me. And that is why I even pity you, Commodore Norrington, because I don’t really think its for her either.
But you didn’t give her a choice, and that was your folly. Your mistake. You traded her freedom for Will’s life. She’s known the boy forever, loves him, even, and she has the faults of virtue and compassion...of course she would do whatever necessary to save the whelp. But you dear commodore? Who will save you?
No one, I’m afraid.
For you, the happy bridegroom, there will be no mercy.
Alright, so I lied about one other thing. Pirate. Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?
I said I don’t envy what you’ll have your hands full of, but I do. She’s a prize specimen, a beautiful woman, a fine pirate....what man wouldn’t want his hands to be full of her? I certainly wouldn’t hesitate to jump on the chance again...
Oh. Well, that’s one more thing I didn’t exactly tell the truth about. You came in here with such a god-awful kicked puppy dog look in your eyes, mate, how could I give you the truth?
Twas for your own good, really.
There was also fear, of the woman your fiancee truly is, and not who you need her to be. Did you first begin to sense it then. Do you know now? I doubt it. But you will see.
So, you waltz in here with all your pomp and glory, polished boots and feathered hat, buttons blindingly shiny on that crisp pressed uniform. Demand that the guards leave us by our onesies, and they run for the hills, sensing a storm brewing from their normally so cool commodore.
“What happened between you and Elizabeth on that island?” you demand, voice low, leaning on the bars.
“Not much a one for foreplay, are ye? I feel a bit sorry for your betrothed, then...”
Your nostrils flared, and I read the rage in your eyes. Interesting.
“Tell me the truth, and I may decide not to hang you tomorrow.”
Ah, but did you really want the truth? These sorts seldom do. They don’t like upstarts, they like yes men. It was a role I’d never cared to fill, as Beckett can well tell you.
I could have told you the plain and simple truth, dear Commodore. Elizabeth Swann is a hot blooded woman, and you have no business trying to tie her down. I could have spouted descriptions of great detail, for the details, my friend, were all still fresh and at the forefront of my mind. You don’t forget a night like that, mate, no matter how much rum you drink.
I could have told you about how soft her skin is under callused hands, the supple plumpness of that pouting lower lip between nibbling teeth, and that short, breathy gasp that comes from so deep in her throat when you touch her just the right way...
But I didn’t tell you all that, did I? Not a word. Why? Looking out for me own skin, one would wager. One wouldn’t be so daft to think so. But that wasn’t the reason.
The reason was this: you had no right to it.
I’ll tell you why.
Norry darlin’, I’ve been around, savvy? Salty wenches to guvnor’s wives, all sorts of female companionship left and right, everyone wants a piece of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. I’ve had experiences of all colors. Naughty? Of course. Pleasurable, strange, even degrading...but never, not a lone single experience in my whole life with the fairer sex (or the not so fair, as the case maybe. You know how it gets out at sea for a long long voyage...)--not a one do I remember as being beautiful.
And that’s just what that night on the island was, my dear Commodore. Absolutely and undoubtedly, uncontrollably. Beautiful.
Whether you like it or not, care to acknowledge it or no, Miss Swann soon to be Mrs. Norrington and I are peas in a pod. Kindred spirits. Similar souls. Nous nous s’entendre, savvy? We hear each other. Being on that island with her was like being on the moon, and discovering you’re not so alone after all. She’s young. So very young. But still I know one of me own.
We’re a curious pair, Lizzy and I. Explorers, if you will. And that’s just what we did. We explored each other, drew maps with our hands and our mouths of the planes and curves....
Aye, it was a beautiful night, and you, Commodore, mundane as you are, have no right to pry into it. I left her maidenhead intact, much to her protest. Its more than I’ll ever really owe you, mate.
So like the gentleman Elizabeth believes I am and we both know I’m not, I faced you on the other side of the bars. Looked you in the eye, and told you dead pan that contrary to popular belief, Jack Sparrow does not take advantage of lost little girls. Your eyes darkened at that. What? Was I insinuating that the much respected commodore James Norrington would do such a thing? I smirked, because at that moment I knew what you were thinking. You were wondering what you’d really gotten yourself into. You were questioning how badly had you underestimated Miss Swann.
Swans are vicious creatures, mate. Beautiful, and graceful as dancers, but go near what they hold dear, and they’ll come on you with fury. Peck and bite, beat you with their wings and claw your eyes out. No, I don’t envy you one bit.
But you must have believed me, because I can hear the nonsense going on outside. The orchestra’s begun again, are you walking her back down the aisle? Is her hand on your arm, so delicate and gentle? Its all a farce, my friend, you and I both know you’ll never have all of her.
Neither will I. I can make peace with that. Can you?
Something tells me there will be none of that. There so rarely is.
So in return for my good answer, you granted me time. A fair trial. For a pirate? We’ll see. I’ll escape before you get me in front of a judge and jury anyways. Or so I thought it was my answer, but intuition later told me other wise. The truth came in a calico cloak, face hooded from view. “Leave us,” she’d barked, much as the commodore had earlier. And as earlier, the guards, pitiful lads they be, ran for cover, or perhaps to find someone better adept to confront Elizabeth Swann. I wished them good luck, but knew the search would not be fruitful.
“I’ve secured you a trial,” she said hurriedly, sweeping back her hood. The sight of her so suddenly revealed to a man is an unfair thing; it damn near stole my breath away. I nodded, choosing to keep news of your earlier visit to meself. “So you’ve bought me some time, love. Bought Will time too. What are you going to do about yourself?”
Her face fell momentarily, but I didn’t say it to be cruel. I wanted to remind her that she had a duty to herself too. To not be a martyr, like nearly every other woman I knew.
“I’ll figure something out,” she assured me. Those lips pursed, pensive. I wanted to taste them and taste them and never come up for air. “Marriage is a kind of noose, but not quite so...permanent, shall we say?”
I looked to her eyes, heard her confidence, and I believed her. She was a vicious one, that Swann. She wouldn’t put up with unfavorable circumstances for long.
“And besides, Jack. James isn’t so bad.”
I raised an eyebrow at that one. “If you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, I suppose. He dropped in for a visit earlier,” I said, curious of her reaction.
“Oh?” She was more interested than she let on. I could tell. “And?”
“He had a hankering to know about our time spent on the island. Could be entirely compromising of a prospective wife, you know, to spend the night on a deserted island with the infamous and devastatingly handsome Captain Jack Sparrow...”
“And what did you tell him?” If she was alarmed, her tone did not betray it.
“Not a bloody thing, luv, its none of his business, if I don’t say so meself...”
Elizabeth gives a harsh laugh, and rested her head against the bars. “This is such a farce. I’m pretending to be a lady, you’re pretending to be a scoundrel, and James...”
“Is pretending to not be a desperate man?”
She raised those brown eyes to meet mine, so striking, the color of toasted honey. She smiled, and it was a wicked curl of lips. An acknowledgement of everything I’d said and more. For a moment, I felt a twinge of fear of Miss Swann, of what she was capable of. And then, I just felt sorry for you, my dear Commodore. Very very sorry.
She leaned in to the bars, long fingers clasping the cool metal. Had I dared, I would have gone to her, taken that kiss I’d so strongly desired earlier. Why didn’t I? Because at that moment, I was slightly afraid of this young lady. Her voice came breathily, floating between us with the intimacy of a whisper but the depth of a promise. “I haven’t forgotten you in your prison, Jack Sparrow. I hope you won’t forget me in mine.”
And with that she left, disappearing with a flutter of dark skirts around the corner, as though she were just a shadow that had never really ever been there at all.
I approached you from behind, watching you in the mirror. “I’m not the only one who wears a mask, Elizabeth,” I pointed out. “I simply don’t know what to make of you tonight.” Ducking down, I planted a gentle kiss on your neck. “I feel as though you perhaps know something about me that I don’t. And that, my darling, is a frightening thing.”I’d insisted, not but days ago. He’ll die if we don’t. I’d fought the urge to scream at you, for I could see the thoughts of leaving an innocent boy behind to die at the hands of Barbossa’s pirates circling behind your eyes. What did a blacksmith matter? An orphan. Your rival, or so you thought.