Being an Account of the True Fate of the H.M.S. Dauntless
This fic is rated: PG
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Characters: Anamaria, brief Norrington, Gillette, Groves, OMCs
Summary: what really happened during the hurricane off Tripoli
Warnings,apparent character death, though we all know he'll survive to resign his commission and show up scruffy and sexy in Tortuga; fairly detailed physical violence
Spoilers: for DMC
Word Count: 1,649
Feedback: yes, please! Concrit welcomed.
Distribution: archiving, linking or remixing ok, just credit me and drop me a line!
Author's Note: this is my head!canon for why Anamaria wasn't in DMC and AWE (though I still believe that if you squint, you can see her in the background of the Hoist the Colors scene)
Cross-Posted were_lemur, pirategasm, potc_fic, potc_treasures
My FanFic Masterlist
Disclaimer: PotC belongs to Disney. Characters will be played with nicely and returned to them in good condition when I'm done. No infringement is intended, please don't sue me!
Andrew Gillette watched, horrified, as the wave swept over the side of the Dauntless. Time seemed to slow as it slammed into the Commodore, knocking him sideways across the rain-slicked deck. Gillette lunged forward, and tried to grab him as he was washed past, but his fingers only brushed wet wool.
He saw the back of Norrington's head hit the mast, but if the man cried out, it was lost to the thunder and the roar of the sea. Then Norrington went limp. Gillette could only watch helplessly as his commanding officer, and one of his closest friends, was swept over the side.
"Man overboard," he cried, but he knew there was no use. Unconscious, Norrington would not last a minute against the waves. Even as he ran to the starboard rail, he could see no sign of the Commodore.
Another wave slammed across the deck, and Gillette had to look to his own footing, and the crew. His crew, now.
He would honor Norrington's memory in the best way he could. He would bring his ship, and her crew, safely home.
*
In the Dauntless's brig, Anamaria clung to the steel bars of her cell, because they were the only thing not getting bounced around. It felt like they'd sailed into a hurricane.
Certainly their Commodore wouldn't be so foolish?
The ship rocked, and she cursed Commodore Norrington, the Navy, the British as a people. Stupid, arrogant pricks, every last one of them, and if they'd gotten her killed while she was down here with nothing she could do about it ...
Dying was a possibility she'd had to come to terms with, but to have it happen like this, when she could do nothing more than hang on to the bars and accept her fate ...
Anamaria had never been very good at that.
She raised her head and stared at the single guard. He looked seasick and afraid, the green of his face an unpleasant contrast to his red coat. His lips were moving constantly, restlessly, in the rhythm of prayer.
"God won't help you now," Anamaria said.
He looked up at her, his eyes wide, as if seeing her for the first time. "And yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death -- "
"There is no valley here," she said, "and no Good Shepherd. Only Davy Jones awaits those who slip beneath the waves."
"That's -- that's heathen talk!" She had his full attention; Anamaria didn't let it waver. She met his eyes, and didn't look away; conduct too bold for a woman and unforgivable in a slave. Held his gaze until he shouted "Stop looking at me!"
"Make. Me."
For a moment, she thought she'd tipped her hand too soon, that he'd retreat into duty, but then he took one step toward her, and then another. His sword was in his hand. He lunged forward, stabbed at her through the bars -- and he was hers.
She dodged to the side, stepped inside his range, grabbed his wrist. She threw her weight to the side, and heard his elbow crack as it bent backward. He screamed and tried to twist away, but she pinned his arm against the bars.
"Give me the keys!" she ordered.
He reached through the bar with his good hand, flailed at her. She ducked her head, twisted his arm with it. "Keys!"
He pressed his face to the bars. "Never!"
Rather than try and reason with him, she grabbed him by the hair, shoved him back, and yanked his head forward directly against the bar. His eyes rolled back, and he sagged.
Moving carefully so that the Marine's arm stayed pinned between the bars and her body, Anamaria reached down to retrieve the keys from his belt. She nearly lost her grip when the ship lurched, but she held on despite the pain in her own arm. Finally, the keys were her.
Anamaria unlocked the cell. She hesitated for a moment -- if she simply left the man, he would go down with the ship. But if the Dauntless sank, everyone aboard her was doomed.
She locked the cell behind her, and headed up to the deck.
*
Gillette clung to the wheel of the Dauntless, though he'd be the first to admit he was doing more hanging on than steering.
His breath came in rough gasps, and he was only a little short of panic. There was a part of him that simply wanted to go down below and hide until the blow was over.
Only the thought of Norrington's disapproving stare kept him at his station.
And then the ship lurched beneath him, wrenching the wheel from his hands. He reached for it, but one of the spokes slammed into the back of his hand, knocking it away, his knuckles smarting.
He was about to reach for it again, when another pair of hands -- dark-skinned and slender -- reached out and grasped it. He was shocked to see the prisoner -- the pirate -- at the wheel. She braced her feet, gritted her teeth, and wrestled the wheel back, one spoke, then another.
Gillette could only stare at her, open-mouthed. He looked over to where a pair of Marines were clinging to the lines. "Return the prisoner to the brig!" he demanded. The sergeant took a step forward, but another swell rocked the ship and they had to return to their handhold or be swept overboard.
"Do you want to save your ship?" the pirate demanded.
"Y-yes. Of course."
"Then shut up and let me get us out of this hurricane!"
*
Much to Anamaria's surprise, the officer complied. Or backed away wide-eyed, to be more exact, but she was past caring. She dismissed him from her mind and turned her attention back to the wheel.
Anamaria couldn't fight the Dauntless; she was too big. Instead, she had to coax the ship to cut across the waves and in a heading which -- she hoped -- would bring her to the edge of the storm.
When one of the sails came loose, she founded herself shouting orders to the crew as if she'd been at the helm of the Pearl. She wasn't even surprised when they obeyed -- they were all fighting to survive the hurricane.
When exhaustion would have dragged her down, she called on the fierce will that had kept her running when the other slaves that had escaped with her had fallen down to await capture. She gritted her teeth, braced her feet, and gripped the wheel with numbed fingers.
Some endless time later, she felt the wind slacking, and the waves no longer towered over the deck. She imagined she could even see sunlight breaking through the clouds -- and then she realized that it was the moon, sinking toward the horizon.
She'd made it. She'd survived.
*
They'd survived. Gillette could barely believe it.
And they had to thank a pirate for it. One of Sparrow's crew.
He felt as if he was going to throw up.
If it hadn't been for Sparrow, running into that hurricane, then Norrington would still be alive. He would be damned if he had to thank the woman for it.
He drew his sword, and pointed it at the hollow at the base of the woman's throat. "Step away from that wheel."
The woman took a step back -- but kept her grip on the wheel.
"I said step way."
"I can't. My hands are cramped."
Lieutenant Groves stepped forward and almost gently unwrapped her hands from the wheel. She stepped away. Gillette gave her a thin smile. "I see no reason why she shouldn't hang from the yardarm now."
"She saved us -- "
"What would the Commodore do, Theo? What would James do?"
Groves gave him a pained look, but stepped away from the prisoner.
He turned his head to call for a rope, but instead he found himself staring at the crew, who had gathered. "Captain," one of them said. "She saved our lives."
"She saved her own worthless life. We just came along for the ride. The Commodore -- "
"The Commodore took us into the hurricane," the bos'n's mate said. "She got us out."
"Commodore Norrington died to capture the pirates."
"Aye," somebody else said, "And he nearly took us down with him."
"Sergeant Staffords!" he called. "Place all of these men under arrest!"
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," the big sergeant said. "We can't do that."
*
Anamaria watched, wide-eyed, as the Marines surrounded the Lieutenant. For a long moment, they stood in silence so brittle she thought it would break. Then the sergeant turned to her. "Your orders, Captain?"
"Take him to the brig." She was too exhausted to make any decisions now. She turned to the other officer -- Theo, he'd been called. "You're welcome to join us."
"I'm sorry. I can't. I will join him in his fate -- whatever that might be."
"I'm sure we can find somewhere remote enough to safely leave you -- and whichever members of the crew care to join you -- where we can be out of the area before you can return to civilization."
He inclined his head. "I would appreciate that ... Captain." He closed his eyes, and for a moment, looked as tired as she felt. "I will be in the brig until then."
She'd lost enough friends that she forced herself to say "Lieutenant -- I'm sorry to hear about the Commodore."
He turned and walked away, leaving Anamaria with the wheel. She turned, and saw the crew -- her crew, now -- watching her.
"Anybody who would rather not sail under a pirate flag is free to go below."
Not a single man moved.
Despite her exhaustion, she grinned. "Very well, " she said. She straightened her shoulders. "To your stations, men!"
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Characters: Anamaria, brief Norrington, Gillette, Groves, OMCs
Summary: what really happened during the hurricane off Tripoli
Warnings,apparent character death, though we all know he'll survive to resign his commission and show up scruffy and sexy in Tortuga; fairly detailed physical violence
Spoilers: for DMC
Word Count: 1,649
Feedback: yes, please! Concrit welcomed.
Distribution: archiving, linking or remixing ok, just credit me and drop me a line!
Author's Note: this is my head!canon for why Anamaria wasn't in DMC and AWE (though I still believe that if you squint, you can see her in the background of the Hoist the Colors scene)
Cross-Posted were_lemur, pirategasm, potc_fic, potc_treasures
My FanFic Masterlist
Disclaimer: PotC belongs to Disney. Characters will be played with nicely and returned to them in good condition when I'm done. No infringement is intended, please don't sue me!
Andrew Gillette watched, horrified, as the wave swept over the side of the Dauntless. Time seemed to slow as it slammed into the Commodore, knocking him sideways across the rain-slicked deck. Gillette lunged forward, and tried to grab him as he was washed past, but his fingers only brushed wet wool.
He saw the back of Norrington's head hit the mast, but if the man cried out, it was lost to the thunder and the roar of the sea. Then Norrington went limp. Gillette could only watch helplessly as his commanding officer, and one of his closest friends, was swept over the side.
"Man overboard," he cried, but he knew there was no use. Unconscious, Norrington would not last a minute against the waves. Even as he ran to the starboard rail, he could see no sign of the Commodore.
Another wave slammed across the deck, and Gillette had to look to his own footing, and the crew. His crew, now.
He would honor Norrington's memory in the best way he could. He would bring his ship, and her crew, safely home.
*
In the Dauntless's brig, Anamaria clung to the steel bars of her cell, because they were the only thing not getting bounced around. It felt like they'd sailed into a hurricane.
Certainly their Commodore wouldn't be so foolish?
The ship rocked, and she cursed Commodore Norrington, the Navy, the British as a people. Stupid, arrogant pricks, every last one of them, and if they'd gotten her killed while she was down here with nothing she could do about it ...
Dying was a possibility she'd had to come to terms with, but to have it happen like this, when she could do nothing more than hang on to the bars and accept her fate ...
Anamaria had never been very good at that.
She raised her head and stared at the single guard. He looked seasick and afraid, the green of his face an unpleasant contrast to his red coat. His lips were moving constantly, restlessly, in the rhythm of prayer.
"God won't help you now," Anamaria said.
He looked up at her, his eyes wide, as if seeing her for the first time. "And yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death -- "
"There is no valley here," she said, "and no Good Shepherd. Only Davy Jones awaits those who slip beneath the waves."
"That's -- that's heathen talk!" She had his full attention; Anamaria didn't let it waver. She met his eyes, and didn't look away; conduct too bold for a woman and unforgivable in a slave. Held his gaze until he shouted "Stop looking at me!"
"Make. Me."
For a moment, she thought she'd tipped her hand too soon, that he'd retreat into duty, but then he took one step toward her, and then another. His sword was in his hand. He lunged forward, stabbed at her through the bars -- and he was hers.
She dodged to the side, stepped inside his range, grabbed his wrist. She threw her weight to the side, and heard his elbow crack as it bent backward. He screamed and tried to twist away, but she pinned his arm against the bars.
"Give me the keys!" she ordered.
He reached through the bar with his good hand, flailed at her. She ducked her head, twisted his arm with it. "Keys!"
He pressed his face to the bars. "Never!"
Rather than try and reason with him, she grabbed him by the hair, shoved him back, and yanked his head forward directly against the bar. His eyes rolled back, and he sagged.
Moving carefully so that the Marine's arm stayed pinned between the bars and her body, Anamaria reached down to retrieve the keys from his belt. She nearly lost her grip when the ship lurched, but she held on despite the pain in her own arm. Finally, the keys were her.
Anamaria unlocked the cell. She hesitated for a moment -- if she simply left the man, he would go down with the ship. But if the Dauntless sank, everyone aboard her was doomed.
She locked the cell behind her, and headed up to the deck.
*
Gillette clung to the wheel of the Dauntless, though he'd be the first to admit he was doing more hanging on than steering.
His breath came in rough gasps, and he was only a little short of panic. There was a part of him that simply wanted to go down below and hide until the blow was over.
Only the thought of Norrington's disapproving stare kept him at his station.
And then the ship lurched beneath him, wrenching the wheel from his hands. He reached for it, but one of the spokes slammed into the back of his hand, knocking it away, his knuckles smarting.
He was about to reach for it again, when another pair of hands -- dark-skinned and slender -- reached out and grasped it. He was shocked to see the prisoner -- the pirate -- at the wheel. She braced her feet, gritted her teeth, and wrestled the wheel back, one spoke, then another.
Gillette could only stare at her, open-mouthed. He looked over to where a pair of Marines were clinging to the lines. "Return the prisoner to the brig!" he demanded. The sergeant took a step forward, but another swell rocked the ship and they had to return to their handhold or be swept overboard.
"Do you want to save your ship?" the pirate demanded.
"Y-yes. Of course."
"Then shut up and let me get us out of this hurricane!"
*
Much to Anamaria's surprise, the officer complied. Or backed away wide-eyed, to be more exact, but she was past caring. She dismissed him from her mind and turned her attention back to the wheel.
Anamaria couldn't fight the Dauntless; she was too big. Instead, she had to coax the ship to cut across the waves and in a heading which -- she hoped -- would bring her to the edge of the storm.
When one of the sails came loose, she founded herself shouting orders to the crew as if she'd been at the helm of the Pearl. She wasn't even surprised when they obeyed -- they were all fighting to survive the hurricane.
When exhaustion would have dragged her down, she called on the fierce will that had kept her running when the other slaves that had escaped with her had fallen down to await capture. She gritted her teeth, braced her feet, and gripped the wheel with numbed fingers.
Some endless time later, she felt the wind slacking, and the waves no longer towered over the deck. She imagined she could even see sunlight breaking through the clouds -- and then she realized that it was the moon, sinking toward the horizon.
She'd made it. She'd survived.
*
They'd survived. Gillette could barely believe it.
And they had to thank a pirate for it. One of Sparrow's crew.
He felt as if he was going to throw up.
If it hadn't been for Sparrow, running into that hurricane, then Norrington would still be alive. He would be damned if he had to thank the woman for it.
He drew his sword, and pointed it at the hollow at the base of the woman's throat. "Step away from that wheel."
The woman took a step back -- but kept her grip on the wheel.
"I said step way."
"I can't. My hands are cramped."
Lieutenant Groves stepped forward and almost gently unwrapped her hands from the wheel. She stepped away. Gillette gave her a thin smile. "I see no reason why she shouldn't hang from the yardarm now."
"She saved us -- "
"What would the Commodore do, Theo? What would James do?"
Groves gave him a pained look, but stepped away from the prisoner.
He turned his head to call for a rope, but instead he found himself staring at the crew, who had gathered. "Captain," one of them said. "She saved our lives."
"She saved her own worthless life. We just came along for the ride. The Commodore -- "
"The Commodore took us into the hurricane," the bos'n's mate said. "She got us out."
"Commodore Norrington died to capture the pirates."
"Aye," somebody else said, "And he nearly took us down with him."
"Sergeant Staffords!" he called. "Place all of these men under arrest!"
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," the big sergeant said. "We can't do that."
*
Anamaria watched, wide-eyed, as the Marines surrounded the Lieutenant. For a long moment, they stood in silence so brittle she thought it would break. Then the sergeant turned to her. "Your orders, Captain?"
"Take him to the brig." She was too exhausted to make any decisions now. She turned to the other officer -- Theo, he'd been called. "You're welcome to join us."
"I'm sorry. I can't. I will join him in his fate -- whatever that might be."
"I'm sure we can find somewhere remote enough to safely leave you -- and whichever members of the crew care to join you -- where we can be out of the area before you can return to civilization."
He inclined his head. "I would appreciate that ... Captain." He closed his eyes, and for a moment, looked as tired as she felt. "I will be in the brig until then."
She'd lost enough friends that she forced herself to say "Lieutenant -- I'm sorry to hear about the Commodore."
He turned and walked away, leaving Anamaria with the wheel. She turned, and saw the crew -- her crew, now -- watching her.
"Anybody who would rather not sail under a pirate flag is free to go below."
Not a single man moved.
Despite her exhaustion, she grinned. "Very well, " she said. She straightened her shoulders. "To your stations, men!"