(no subject)
Title: A Suitable Distraction (For the Safety of Your Immortal Soul)
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Author: jadeddiva
Pairing: Norrington/Elizabeth
Rating: PG-13, at most
Summary: It hurts to think that the only wife he’ll ever have is the only woman he ever wanted and all of this for the sake of a pirate. Norrington/Elizabeth, post-DMC
Author’s Note: For ishie's Marriage Law Challenge. Sort of. Really, I need to apologize for the fact that this piece is nothing like the challenge - in fact, the idea took me by my figurative balls and ran for dear life. I apologize for the fact that this will be the most atypical submission of the entire challenge. I hope the angst lets you forgive me.Playing fast and free with history, for a change, so nit-picks welcomed but seeing I wrote this uber-fast, I'll probably ignore it until later.
“You have to be joking,” he says. He’s already cycled through the other far more reasonable exclamations and this is the best he can do - shame, really, after all those months spent on Tortuga improving his language skills.
“You didn’t seem to offended last time this topic was discussed,” Elizabeth hisses at him and he cannot help but roll his eyes.
“Elizabeth,” he says, “this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him.”
Beckett smiles condescendingly from behind his desk - the desk, James remembers, that used to be his own, stolen from his office in the fort by this horrid little toad -
“Decorum, Ms. Swann,” Beckett tells her. “You were seen in Tortuga dressed rather scandalously and in the company of this gentleman, a behavior you repeated once again in Port Royal. It would due you both to honor certain societal expectations.”
Out of the corner of his eye, James sees the anger in Elizabeth’s shoulders, the tightening of her jaw, the glint of her eyes. He can’t think of anything more to say at the moment to convey his disgust, so he remains silent.
…
Had he known two years prior that it would only take being seen with Elizabeth when she was dressed like a man to makes her his wife, he probably would not have done things any differently. He was a gentleman then, still remains one now, and would never have compromised her in any way to force his suit (he is also a dreamer, and knows that if he ever should marry, he would like it to be because of mutual affection not deception).
Now, however, he is to be married tomorrow; until then, he is confined to a room in Beckett’s elegant town home, and he picks away at the wallpaper in boredom and frustration.
He is completely aware of the reason for all of the machinations. Elizabeth’s arrival in Port Royal in an effort to find him (he is not flattered) put her in view of Beckett and now, Beckett obviously believes that if he binds her to James, she will go mad and convince James to go find Will or Jack or the Pearl or whatever it is she is on a quest for now. And James, dutifully bound to Beckett’s service in order to get his life back, will follow if not lead the charge. He’s not sure what happens after that, actually, because it will probably involve death, maybe his own, and he does not want to think about that now.
The door opens, and he is surprised to see the Governor - or, perhaps former Governor, as Beckett likes to play with people instead of pawns - walks in.
“Are you alright?” he asks James, and James smiles bitterly. This is their first reunion since he has returned, and James has still not cut his hair. Part of him wants to stand and bow but, since he will very soon become Beckett’s puppet, he remains seated.
“All things considered, no,” James replies.
“Elizabeth - ”
“Does not love me and is being forced into a marriage for ulterior purpose you have not yet discerned.”
Swann does not know what to make of this, of the new James, and so he looks away. “Sir, I am very sorry - ”
“I understand. Just…treat her -”
“I will.” James doesn’t know why he agrees, but he doesn’t want to feel obligated to do anything.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Swann tells him.
He does not smile, just looks out the window. In the distance, he can see the port, tall masts of ships and sails billowing in the window and he cannot believe this is what his life has become. It makes him want to vomit.
“So am I,” he says, so soft he’s not sure that Swann even heard him.
…
The ceremony is brief. He kisses her quickly before looking away, catching Beckett’s smirk out of the corner of his eye. He is not sure which he hates more, the gall of that man or the intoxicating taste of her on his lips.
They will live in a house that belongs to Beckett so that their comings and goings (and that of any visitors) may be watched by his spies. There is a bedroom and a parlor, a library and dining room, servants and books and flowers and a beautiful view of the harbor.
Elizabeth heads towards the smaller bedroom but James catches her arm, pulling her towards the master suite.
“If you sneak out in the night,” he tells her, “someone will see you, and bring you back here, and we will both be in trouble.”
She is silent as he leaves, strips the linens from the smaller room, and makes a bed on the floor. Her eyes convey bitter acquiescence, and he wonders how he will survive this for however long it takes the plan to work.
…
“When are we going to find Jack?” she asks the next afternoon. He is surprised it has taken her one day.
“Whatever made you think that will happen?” he responds, turning away from the window.
“Because,” she says, “we must.”
“Beckett is watching us,” he tells her. “If we go off in the middle of the night to find your fiancé - who isn’t even legally your fiancé, actually - we’ll be caught. They’ll follow us to them.”
“Maybe that’s what we need,” she says. “A diversion.”
A diversion, he thinks. It occurs to him that perhaps that’s all he’s been in this life - to Elizabeth, to Port Royal, to Beckett - a harmless distraction.
“What did you have in mind?” he asks.
Her plan is simple. They will not leave in the dead of night but, rather, in plain site, to go to the other side of the island on a small ship the two of them can manage of their own. They will go there, and then immediately sail to another island nearby, then rendezvous with Barbossa’s ship somewhere soon (the pirate is allegedly waiting for her return). He hopes it is sooner rather than later, because the two of them cannot handle a ship entirely on their own for too long.
Apparently, Jack is at the far end of the world. This amuses James, because he’d have expected that much from the pirate and yet, there’s a look in Elizabeth’s eye that he takes to be guilt, and he feels sorry for both the pirate and Turner.
And Beckett will follow, Beckett who Elizabeth wrongly thinks has something Jack wants, or perhaps the key to Jack’s safety or something. Her logic is convoluted, her reasoning shaky, and he is too confused at the events that have transpired which put them here.
But the walls are confining and he needs to breathe in the fresh salt air. He sets about finding a boat within the hour.
…
When they set sail, it is obvious that Elizabeth does not know what part he plays in this ordeal, does not know he took the heart, only asks how he made it back to Port Royal (he tells her it was luck, and she does not press him). They do not discuss the heart, or Beckett, and he is grateful. Whatever the case, her opinion of him cannot be any lower than it is now.
He’s spent more time with her these past few months than ever before, and he’s realizing that the woman he thought he loved is nothing like the woman before him. He likes this incarnation, the wild pirate Elizabeth, more than the lovely governor’s daughter (though it pains him to admit it). She’s still beautiful and exciting, and it fills him with sadness that he will never claim her as his own, despite the lengths he goes to for her.
The wind has died down and so they are lying on the deck, enjoying the sun. Elizabeth seems more comfortable around him, comfortable enough to joke with him about Tortuga, and his time as a pirate. The sun makes him drowsy, and when he wakes it is sunset and Elizabeth is at the helm, watching the horizon.
“I’m impressed,” he says. “You’ve learned more about ships than I ever thought possible.”
“You were a good tutor,” she tells him. “I learned from you and a bit from the pirates, but you deserve the credit.”
“Thank you,” he says, feeling humbled that she actually paid attention to him at some point in her life.
“And thank you,” she says. She looks earnest, which makes his stomach fall. “For what you’ve done for me. You’re a fine man, James Norrington.”
He nods. “Of course, Ms. Swann.” There is a bitter taste in his mouth and he looks away towards the sunset. The ghost of Will Turner looms between them.
…
Two days and no Barbossa. They have brought enough food and water and rum for two weeks, at which point either Beckett’s ship will catch up with them or they will find Barbossa. The details of all of this are still confusing him but try as he might, he cannot care.
He longs for the Dauntless and the Interceptor and the days when things made sense.
Across the ship, Elizabeth leans over the edge and watches the water crash against the side. She looks like she did on the crossing from England, and he feels very old and very tired.
…
It occurs to him one afternoon, quite suddenly in fact, that Elizabeth is his wife. She is legally bound to him. She is his wife oh, but she is not his wife, he corrects himself. The minute it is possible, this union will be dissolved and she will go off with Turner; he will either be dead or somewhere far from Port Royal.
It hurts to think that the only wife he’ll ever have is the only woman he ever wanted and all of this is for the sake of a pirate.
Still - wife. Wife wife wife. If he was a horrible man, which he is not, he would make her his wife, take her on the hard wooden floor and bind her to him against her will. But he is not, and even though she looks enticing, her legs slim and slender in their breeches and her shirt open and exposing tanned skin he had only dreamt of, he will not touch her.
He will save these memories of her to tide him through the dark nights of his sad life (may God have mercy on his wretched soul).
…
They decide to go ashore one day, in the hope that if they stop moving, someone will find them. They make a fire and cook the fish that James catches in the shallows. They drink rum and she teaches him pirate songs, some he already knows and others new to him.
They have become companions, able to exist in comfortable silence and not lacking for idle conversation. It means more to him that he will ever say that she does not seem to find him as boring as she once did and even if that was the case, she tolerates his company far more than when they were both in Port Royal. Granted, it is purely survival that keeps her civil but still, it is better than nothing.
“Why did you love me?” she asks, passing the almost-empty rum bottle back to him. The question catches him off guard because he has been considering this question since the moment he saw her in Tortuga those months ago.
“Because,” he says slowly, searching for the correct words, “you make me want to be a better man.” Make he thinks, because he still loves her and he still wants to be a better man, the best man, all for her.
“I don’t quite understand how that could possibly equate to love,” she tells him and he laughs, taking a swig of the rum. She is so young sometimes, he thinks, so young and beautiful in the light of the fire and glow of the stars.
“There was a time when I would have done anything for a favorable glance or smile from you,” he says. He swishes the bottle, looking into it’s depths before taking another drink and passing it back. “I wanted you to think highly of me, for I held you in such esteem that your approval - it was more than enough.”
She is silent and so close and he thinks maybe that’s her breath on his neck, but it’s probably just the wind.
“Do you no longer hold me in such high esteem,” she asks. It is always about Elizabeth, and no one else, despite the lengths they go to for her. He thinks about Turner, facing the gallows and Davy Jones’ crew and all for Elizabeth, who expects such fidelity and risk.
“No,” he says. “I still hold you in high esteem, though I will admit that, like any man, the crushing blow dealt to my ego by your rejection of my suit has only slightly tainted my opinion. You are still a fine woman, Elizabeth.”
He is honest, because despite her immaturity there is no one else like her, and he admires that.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and he lies back onto the sand, closing his eyes. Thank you.
He wants to ask what she thinks of him, if she ever thought of him as a friend or would-be lover, if she ever held him in high esteem but he has already suffered much for her and though it is probably not possible to suffer any more, he still does not risk it. She is Elizabeth Swann, Governor’s daughter who is free-spirited and lovely and he is James Norrington, disgraced former Commodore of His Majesty’s Navy, boring and cursed.
There is movement and he can feel the press of her body against his side and when he opens his eyes, she is above him, looking down at him anxiously.
“Kiss me,” she tells him, and he blinks.
“Elizabeth,” he starts but she silences him.
“Please. Kiss me,” she repeats and he does, reaching up to run his hand through her hair and pull her down to his lips.
She tastes like heaven and hell, damnation and salvation and the mere flicker of her tongue against his sends a rush of blood to his groin. Honey and rum and sugar and spice and he could drown in his, in Elizabeth, if she let him.
He ends the kiss, pushing himself up and walking away from her. He does not say anything, will let her assumes he wants to regain control over his body (definitely a probability) but really, he does not want to kiss the woman who does not want him, who closes her eyes and thinks of Turner or Sparrow. He will never be anything to her other than a dutiful protector, someone to keep her safe. He chokes back a sob, and prays that someone finds them, and soon.
…
With morning comes a ship on the horizon, which Elizabeth identifies as Barbossa’s. There is a boat heading towards them and James assumes that Turner is on it with some of the crew.
“Once we return to Port Royal, I will do whatever I can to dissolve the marriage,” he tells her.
“Oh,” she replies.
“You’re welcome,” he tells her, wishing for the boat to arrive faster.
“I had forgotten,” she says softly, embarrassed, and whatever is left of his heart crumbles in his chest.
“There is nothing to remember.” He squints into the sun, happy to see Turner - their salvation - jump out of the boat and run towards them. He turns away when the boy embraces Elizabeth, distracted by a glimpse of more sails off in the distance.
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Author: jadeddiva
Pairing: Norrington/Elizabeth
Rating: PG-13, at most
Summary: It hurts to think that the only wife he’ll ever have is the only woman he ever wanted and all of this for the sake of a pirate. Norrington/Elizabeth, post-DMC
Author’s Note: For ishie's Marriage Law Challenge. Sort of. Really, I need to apologize for the fact that this piece is nothing like the challenge - in fact, the idea took me by my figurative balls and ran for dear life. I apologize for the fact that this will be the most atypical submission of the entire challenge. I hope the angst lets you forgive me.Playing fast and free with history, for a change, so nit-picks welcomed but seeing I wrote this uber-fast, I'll probably ignore it until later.
“You have to be joking,” he says. He’s already cycled through the other far more reasonable exclamations and this is the best he can do - shame, really, after all those months spent on Tortuga improving his language skills.
“You didn’t seem to offended last time this topic was discussed,” Elizabeth hisses at him and he cannot help but roll his eyes.
“Elizabeth,” he says, “this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him.”
Beckett smiles condescendingly from behind his desk - the desk, James remembers, that used to be his own, stolen from his office in the fort by this horrid little toad -
“Decorum, Ms. Swann,” Beckett tells her. “You were seen in Tortuga dressed rather scandalously and in the company of this gentleman, a behavior you repeated once again in Port Royal. It would due you both to honor certain societal expectations.”
Out of the corner of his eye, James sees the anger in Elizabeth’s shoulders, the tightening of her jaw, the glint of her eyes. He can’t think of anything more to say at the moment to convey his disgust, so he remains silent.
…
Had he known two years prior that it would only take being seen with Elizabeth when she was dressed like a man to makes her his wife, he probably would not have done things any differently. He was a gentleman then, still remains one now, and would never have compromised her in any way to force his suit (he is also a dreamer, and knows that if he ever should marry, he would like it to be because of mutual affection not deception).
Now, however, he is to be married tomorrow; until then, he is confined to a room in Beckett’s elegant town home, and he picks away at the wallpaper in boredom and frustration.
He is completely aware of the reason for all of the machinations. Elizabeth’s arrival in Port Royal in an effort to find him (he is not flattered) put her in view of Beckett and now, Beckett obviously believes that if he binds her to James, she will go mad and convince James to go find Will or Jack or the Pearl or whatever it is she is on a quest for now. And James, dutifully bound to Beckett’s service in order to get his life back, will follow if not lead the charge. He’s not sure what happens after that, actually, because it will probably involve death, maybe his own, and he does not want to think about that now.
The door opens, and he is surprised to see the Governor - or, perhaps former Governor, as Beckett likes to play with people instead of pawns - walks in.
“Are you alright?” he asks James, and James smiles bitterly. This is their first reunion since he has returned, and James has still not cut his hair. Part of him wants to stand and bow but, since he will very soon become Beckett’s puppet, he remains seated.
“All things considered, no,” James replies.
“Elizabeth - ”
“Does not love me and is being forced into a marriage for ulterior purpose you have not yet discerned.”
Swann does not know what to make of this, of the new James, and so he looks away. “Sir, I am very sorry - ”
“I understand. Just…treat her -”
“I will.” James doesn’t know why he agrees, but he doesn’t want to feel obligated to do anything.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Swann tells him.
He does not smile, just looks out the window. In the distance, he can see the port, tall masts of ships and sails billowing in the window and he cannot believe this is what his life has become. It makes him want to vomit.
“So am I,” he says, so soft he’s not sure that Swann even heard him.
…
The ceremony is brief. He kisses her quickly before looking away, catching Beckett’s smirk out of the corner of his eye. He is not sure which he hates more, the gall of that man or the intoxicating taste of her on his lips.
They will live in a house that belongs to Beckett so that their comings and goings (and that of any visitors) may be watched by his spies. There is a bedroom and a parlor, a library and dining room, servants and books and flowers and a beautiful view of the harbor.
Elizabeth heads towards the smaller bedroom but James catches her arm, pulling her towards the master suite.
“If you sneak out in the night,” he tells her, “someone will see you, and bring you back here, and we will both be in trouble.”
She is silent as he leaves, strips the linens from the smaller room, and makes a bed on the floor. Her eyes convey bitter acquiescence, and he wonders how he will survive this for however long it takes the plan to work.
…
“When are we going to find Jack?” she asks the next afternoon. He is surprised it has taken her one day.
“Whatever made you think that will happen?” he responds, turning away from the window.
“Because,” she says, “we must.”
“Beckett is watching us,” he tells her. “If we go off in the middle of the night to find your fiancé - who isn’t even legally your fiancé, actually - we’ll be caught. They’ll follow us to them.”
“Maybe that’s what we need,” she says. “A diversion.”
A diversion, he thinks. It occurs to him that perhaps that’s all he’s been in this life - to Elizabeth, to Port Royal, to Beckett - a harmless distraction.
“What did you have in mind?” he asks.
Her plan is simple. They will not leave in the dead of night but, rather, in plain site, to go to the other side of the island on a small ship the two of them can manage of their own. They will go there, and then immediately sail to another island nearby, then rendezvous with Barbossa’s ship somewhere soon (the pirate is allegedly waiting for her return). He hopes it is sooner rather than later, because the two of them cannot handle a ship entirely on their own for too long.
Apparently, Jack is at the far end of the world. This amuses James, because he’d have expected that much from the pirate and yet, there’s a look in Elizabeth’s eye that he takes to be guilt, and he feels sorry for both the pirate and Turner.
And Beckett will follow, Beckett who Elizabeth wrongly thinks has something Jack wants, or perhaps the key to Jack’s safety or something. Her logic is convoluted, her reasoning shaky, and he is too confused at the events that have transpired which put them here.
But the walls are confining and he needs to breathe in the fresh salt air. He sets about finding a boat within the hour.
…
When they set sail, it is obvious that Elizabeth does not know what part he plays in this ordeal, does not know he took the heart, only asks how he made it back to Port Royal (he tells her it was luck, and she does not press him). They do not discuss the heart, or Beckett, and he is grateful. Whatever the case, her opinion of him cannot be any lower than it is now.
He’s spent more time with her these past few months than ever before, and he’s realizing that the woman he thought he loved is nothing like the woman before him. He likes this incarnation, the wild pirate Elizabeth, more than the lovely governor’s daughter (though it pains him to admit it). She’s still beautiful and exciting, and it fills him with sadness that he will never claim her as his own, despite the lengths he goes to for her.
The wind has died down and so they are lying on the deck, enjoying the sun. Elizabeth seems more comfortable around him, comfortable enough to joke with him about Tortuga, and his time as a pirate. The sun makes him drowsy, and when he wakes it is sunset and Elizabeth is at the helm, watching the horizon.
“I’m impressed,” he says. “You’ve learned more about ships than I ever thought possible.”
“You were a good tutor,” she tells him. “I learned from you and a bit from the pirates, but you deserve the credit.”
“Thank you,” he says, feeling humbled that she actually paid attention to him at some point in her life.
“And thank you,” she says. She looks earnest, which makes his stomach fall. “For what you’ve done for me. You’re a fine man, James Norrington.”
He nods. “Of course, Ms. Swann.” There is a bitter taste in his mouth and he looks away towards the sunset. The ghost of Will Turner looms between them.
…
Two days and no Barbossa. They have brought enough food and water and rum for two weeks, at which point either Beckett’s ship will catch up with them or they will find Barbossa. The details of all of this are still confusing him but try as he might, he cannot care.
He longs for the Dauntless and the Interceptor and the days when things made sense.
Across the ship, Elizabeth leans over the edge and watches the water crash against the side. She looks like she did on the crossing from England, and he feels very old and very tired.
…
It occurs to him one afternoon, quite suddenly in fact, that Elizabeth is his wife. She is legally bound to him. She is his wife oh, but she is not his wife, he corrects himself. The minute it is possible, this union will be dissolved and she will go off with Turner; he will either be dead or somewhere far from Port Royal.
It hurts to think that the only wife he’ll ever have is the only woman he ever wanted and all of this is for the sake of a pirate.
Still - wife. Wife wife wife. If he was a horrible man, which he is not, he would make her his wife, take her on the hard wooden floor and bind her to him against her will. But he is not, and even though she looks enticing, her legs slim and slender in their breeches and her shirt open and exposing tanned skin he had only dreamt of, he will not touch her.
He will save these memories of her to tide him through the dark nights of his sad life (may God have mercy on his wretched soul).
…
They decide to go ashore one day, in the hope that if they stop moving, someone will find them. They make a fire and cook the fish that James catches in the shallows. They drink rum and she teaches him pirate songs, some he already knows and others new to him.
They have become companions, able to exist in comfortable silence and not lacking for idle conversation. It means more to him that he will ever say that she does not seem to find him as boring as she once did and even if that was the case, she tolerates his company far more than when they were both in Port Royal. Granted, it is purely survival that keeps her civil but still, it is better than nothing.
“Why did you love me?” she asks, passing the almost-empty rum bottle back to him. The question catches him off guard because he has been considering this question since the moment he saw her in Tortuga those months ago.
“Because,” he says slowly, searching for the correct words, “you make me want to be a better man.” Make he thinks, because he still loves her and he still wants to be a better man, the best man, all for her.
“I don’t quite understand how that could possibly equate to love,” she tells him and he laughs, taking a swig of the rum. She is so young sometimes, he thinks, so young and beautiful in the light of the fire and glow of the stars.
“There was a time when I would have done anything for a favorable glance or smile from you,” he says. He swishes the bottle, looking into it’s depths before taking another drink and passing it back. “I wanted you to think highly of me, for I held you in such esteem that your approval - it was more than enough.”
She is silent and so close and he thinks maybe that’s her breath on his neck, but it’s probably just the wind.
“Do you no longer hold me in such high esteem,” she asks. It is always about Elizabeth, and no one else, despite the lengths they go to for her. He thinks about Turner, facing the gallows and Davy Jones’ crew and all for Elizabeth, who expects such fidelity and risk.
“No,” he says. “I still hold you in high esteem, though I will admit that, like any man, the crushing blow dealt to my ego by your rejection of my suit has only slightly tainted my opinion. You are still a fine woman, Elizabeth.”
He is honest, because despite her immaturity there is no one else like her, and he admires that.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and he lies back onto the sand, closing his eyes. Thank you.
He wants to ask what she thinks of him, if she ever thought of him as a friend or would-be lover, if she ever held him in high esteem but he has already suffered much for her and though it is probably not possible to suffer any more, he still does not risk it. She is Elizabeth Swann, Governor’s daughter who is free-spirited and lovely and he is James Norrington, disgraced former Commodore of His Majesty’s Navy, boring and cursed.
There is movement and he can feel the press of her body against his side and when he opens his eyes, she is above him, looking down at him anxiously.
“Kiss me,” she tells him, and he blinks.
“Elizabeth,” he starts but she silences him.
“Please. Kiss me,” she repeats and he does, reaching up to run his hand through her hair and pull her down to his lips.
She tastes like heaven and hell, damnation and salvation and the mere flicker of her tongue against his sends a rush of blood to his groin. Honey and rum and sugar and spice and he could drown in his, in Elizabeth, if she let him.
He ends the kiss, pushing himself up and walking away from her. He does not say anything, will let her assumes he wants to regain control over his body (definitely a probability) but really, he does not want to kiss the woman who does not want him, who closes her eyes and thinks of Turner or Sparrow. He will never be anything to her other than a dutiful protector, someone to keep her safe. He chokes back a sob, and prays that someone finds them, and soon.
…
With morning comes a ship on the horizon, which Elizabeth identifies as Barbossa’s. There is a boat heading towards them and James assumes that Turner is on it with some of the crew.
“Once we return to Port Royal, I will do whatever I can to dissolve the marriage,” he tells her.
“Oh,” she replies.
“You’re welcome,” he tells her, wishing for the boat to arrive faster.
“I had forgotten,” she says softly, embarrassed, and whatever is left of his heart crumbles in his chest.
“There is nothing to remember.” He squints into the sun, happy to see Turner - their salvation - jump out of the boat and run towards them. He turns away when the boy embraces Elizabeth, distracted by a glimpse of more sails off in the distance.