The Challenge: Chapter 3
Title: The Challenge
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington has, somewhat disconcertingly, made himself quite at home in my head with no apparent plans to leave. Jack Sparrow has been dropping by at random for years, as well, which surely doesn’t help matters.
Summary: James' brother proves useful. Jack tests the waters via mail. James warily plays coy. There is, once more, a linen sheet involved.
Warnings: This isn't very well proofread. Sorry.
Note: Libertas quae sera tamen translates to: "Liberty, even when it comes late" which is the state motto of Minas Gerais, Brazil.
James' brother's character is loosely based on a mixture of personalities: Teddy Roosevelt, Lawrence of Arabia (the classic movie version) and Lt. Colonel Nicholson from the movie Bridge Over the River Kwai, which I felt would provide the perfect mix of enthusiasm, madness, apparent intractability, and wit. Such a man having a younger brother of equal intelligence but with infinitely deeper reserves of unflappable calm, I felt, would make for an interesting fraternal relationship. That relationship, in turn, was loosely based on my own relationship with my mother, who also tends to unnerve people whilst I sit there going, "Really? You're afraid of her? That's hilarious," and then calmly sip my tea.
Two Months Post-Challenge
Joshamee Gibbs’ onshore duties included news-gathering, because he could absorb information, tales and rumors like a sponge; and for all that he did not usually interpret them correctly, he could repeat them to his captain accurately, when pressed.
Jack was not wholly surprised by the grim expression on his quartermaster’s face, or by the ominous voice in which Gibbs said, “We’d be best off layin’ low a bit, or else keep ourselves outta Jamaican waters for the next month, Cap’n.”
Bracing himself for a tale of some kind of curse or portent of bad luck, Jack inquired delicately, “An’ why’s that, Mr. Gibbs?”
Gibbs winced. “Two Norringtons in the same waters is more’n bad luck--’s outright damnation; the commodore’s bad enough, Jack, but now his bloody vice-admiral brother is comin’, takin’ a holiday to visit him.” He was pale as a sheet. “Jack, when it comes to huntin’ pirates, they’re cut from the same cloth: too bloody clever an’ good at what they do.”
Momentarily stunned, Jack could only blink a few times in surprise. “Tell me more about him, mate, before I decide he’s that much of a threat. You said he’ll be on holiday. Surely he won’t be too keen to hunt pirates on his time off...”
Gibbs shook his head. “Jack...you don’t know ‘em. The commodore’s gentleman-like even to our ilk. The vice-admiral is as smart as the commodore, but also summat of a sportsman if you get my meanin’. The pirates aroun’ his part of the world, ‘round India an’ the cape, they call him the foxhunter.”
“And they call the commodore ‘Death Himself’, mate,” Jack countered. “‘Foxhunter’ sounds almost cuddly in comparison to that.”
“Death Himself just strikes ya down: quick an’ clean, merciful like a gentleman should be. The foxhunter chases ye through the woods ‘til yer half-mad an’ too weak to keep runnin’, then lets his hounds tear ye apart,” Gibbs said solemnly. Something like steel glinted in his all-too-sober gaze. “The commodore was never a flogging captain. The vice-admiral was.”
Jack’s eyebrows raised. “You served under him, too, I take it?”
“Before I made it to the Caribbees, aye. Didn’t help me get along with his brother, at first, as ye can guess.” He looked thoughtful for a long moment, then shook his head. “You want to take down ships in British waters while both Norringtons are in the same place, an’ you’ll need yerself a new quartermaster for the duration, Jack.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “That bad?”
“The commodore almost caught us last time, an’ his brother’s just as keen. Let’s not see what they can come up with together.”
A cold shiver ran down Jack’s spine. “Point made.” He had to wonder what on earth was going on in Port Royal, and whether it would interfere with some of his plans for the good commodore: plans involving bare skin and white linen. Mayhap he should check.
Lawrence Norrington, planned to spend a week and a half in Port Royal, before taking a working-tour through a few other ports in the area. His face was marred along one cheekbone by a long red scar; older than his brother by five years, and with fairer hair but the same sea-green eyes, he looked like a middle-aged lion, not quite out of his prime and able to outwit any younger men looking to take his position. “The Navy is ever-resourceful, these days, and for all that this is not my hemisphere of expertise, they want me to take a look at things here and there, make sure that the chain of command and other areas are well-disciplined. They do, however, know better by now than to ask me to personally check on how efficiently their budgets are handled.”
“Ah yes,” James mused, his tones airy and mocking. “Your spending habits and the profligacy thereof.”
Lawrence’s eyes narrowed with mixed amusement and viciousness. His smile was as sharp as his sarcasm. “Oh, do mock me with your prudence. Tell me again, James, why is it that I had to bring two new ships with me from England whilst I happened to be in the area?”
“One is a replacement, one to necessarily expand the fleet. We have, of late, had a number of problems-” Calm and aloof as usual.
“Many of which seem to originate from one single pirate.” Mocking, biting.
“Yes. I have been reading up on his history, however, and note that before the East India Company caught him, he had slipped between your fingers...how many times?” James’ voice was perfectly serene, but his eyes were bright with schadenfreude.
Lawrence frowned, looking as though he might growl, if he were not so proper to the very nines. “I was a younger man, then. Barely a captain-”
James turned to Elizabeth with a smirk. “Four.”
Breakfast at the governor’s house this week was going splendidly. Governor Swann was exceedingly nervous and far quieter than usual. William Turner, who had joined them as was occasionally his habit of recent, was positively terrified. Elizabeth was caught between awe, fear, and deep amusement.
“Three!” Lawrence protested.
“Ah, but you fail to take one into account: you were docked beside the ship he stole in order to make his characteristically over-dramatic escape, and you tried to give chase, but...”
Lawrence frowned. “You are most flagitiously cruel to me, my dearest brother.”
“Did he disable the rudder chain, perhaps?” Elizabeth inquired innocently.
Both Norringtons turned to look at her: Lawrence did so sharply and with a hint of chagrinned confusion, and James’ expression was unflappably calm except for the way that his eyes fairly glowed with contained laughter. Elizabeth felt vaguely as though she had interrupted an argument between a pair of wolves.
“Yes,” Lawrence said, with obvious reluctance. “Are you well acquainted with tales of this pirate then, Miss Swann?”
“Well, they did rise in popularity after he caused so much chaos in town,” she said, sounding demure. “For a time, it was difficult to find any social gathering, even amongst the most respectable persons, wherein tales of Jack Sparrow were not talked of for at least an hour. Also, I’ve met the pirate in question, which, I am sure, instigated a number of such discussions in my presence.”
“You’ve ‘met’ him?” Lawrence’s gaze was piercing.
“Oh yes. He threatened my life within minutes of saving it; both actions, I believe, were doubtlessly for his own selfish purposes.” When Lawrence looked again at his brother, Elizabeth winked at Will, who hid a smirk behind his teacup.
“This was shortly before he stole the Interceptor,” James explained, to his brother’s questioning look. He then carefully redirected Lawrence’s attentions towards the situation in Singapore: as graceful as the sweep of a matador’s red cape.
Later, after Lawrence had apologized profusely for having a previous engagement but exited anyway, Elizabeth made a point of seeing to her father’s distraction for a few minutes. Once he was out of the room, Elizabeth turned to James. “You are even more clever than I thought; bravo, James. My father may well be terrified of the both of you now, after that performance. Even Will was unnerved.”
“It was like watching you put your head in a lion’s mouth,” Will muttered to James, “and emerge without a scratch.”
“My brother can be overwhelming to most people, but after years of experience, I am immune. I see through him easily.” James smirked. “I had almost forgotten how entertaining it is to see other people’s reactions to him, and then their reactions to the way I respond to him.”
“Like a bullfighter,” Elizabeth mused.
“Apt, I suppose, Elizabeth: it did also remind me of watching you persuade your father into changing his mind,” Will observed.
She frowned a little. “But father is not so terrifying.”
“No, but he is at least as powerful and unpredictable; he is also, however, more temperamental, sensitive and fickle; I cannot predict him as I can my brother.” James raised his eyebrows. “I agree very much with Will; it was the same ‘bullfighting’ concept which gave me the idea to invite Lawrence here, as I knew that he was due for a holiday soon. I felt that, with this visit, that your father’s perception of me would change, in a number of useful ways.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You are a little bit mad, I think, Commodore.”
“Mad enough,” James admitted, with a hint of a smirk.
“Yes, I think so.”
James’ smirk darkened into something outright evil.
Will’s brow furrowed. “I’m missing something here, aren’t I?”
Elizabeth shot James a questioning look.
He nodded.
“I promise that I shall tell you later,” she murmured. Then, in an even lower tone, she added, “It’s to do with Jack.”
Will winced.
James soon made his excuses, and headed back to the fort.
He was surprised to find a parcel on his desk. The paper that wrapped it was plain, and battered from travel. It was addressed, in unfamiliar and flourishing handwriting, to Commodore Norrington, but bore no marking in relation to who had sent it. James opened it, his face alight with curiosity.
His face soon reddened as he realized the meaning of the package’s contents: a single, neatly folded, linen bedsheet, and a note.
The unfolded note, again in that unfamiliar writing, read:
I heard about your visitor, commodore, and have wisely decided to embrace that oldest and noblest of pirate traditions: running the Hell away from that which is clearly mortiferous. He will not, however, keep me away in another month, love. How goes your progress?
It then instructed him to send reply through William Turner.
“My God, they were both serious.” That was the first thing Will said. Then, after a pause and a bit of confused sputtering, he asked, “Commodore, why-”
“Because, Mr. Turner, I am not a fool, a coward, or a self-righteous zealot incapable of admitting not only my own faults, but those of the law and the navy as well. That is all you need know.” He handed over a thick envelope addressed to one Captain J.S. of the Black Pearl.
Captain Sparrow,
Libertas quae sera tamen
Your challenge is met. If you must know more, ask Elizabeth Swann, as she provided me some assistance in the whole matter. Governor Swann remains my patron, despite being mildly afraid of me, for which my brother’s visit and my own skills can be blamed. My position here in what England believes to be the wilderness, on the far outskirts of civilization, gives me the ability to maintain my position, whilst also giving me the liberty to either ignore or subvert most any orders from my superiors that I might need or wish to.
I am where I want to be, doing what it is that I have always dreamed of doing. That, I do believe, qualifies as freedom.
The question is, do you still have something else to offer, or will your promised return to Port Royal be merely to assure yourself of the reality of my success? I do wonder. One more month.
Commodore James Norrington
P.S.,
For the love of God, do not send any more bedsheets you shameless hussy.
Jack was not sure whether he should laugh or be offended. He could not be sure, but he suspected that, in this letter, the commodore was...playing coy. Staring at it with pure disbelief, Jack wondered idly if it was some kind of trick, but quickly dismissed the idea. James had taken the challenge, treated it seriously, and therefore viewed Jack as an equal, an opponent worth matching; the commodore’s honor would not allow him to stoop so low as to write a dishonestly flirtatious letter to such a rival as that.
He reread the letter once, then twice more.
Norrington--James, Jack reminded himself--had well and truly dismissed the chance at a life of piracy. He had probably put a lot of thought into it, as well. He had gone out of his way to show a pirate captain that a form of freedom was possible even whilst remaining in the bloody navy.
It was the sort of thing that should have been accompanied by some kind of phrase equivalent to: so there, you stupid pirate, I’ve outwitted you and you should therefore stay out of Port Royal or else I shall either shoot you on sight if you climb in my window again or just take you to the gallows in the morning.
Ah, but there was no such phrase in this letter.
Commodore James Norrington had made no attempt to dissuade Jack from visiting again. He had just...wondered about what would happen when Jack did return. It was almost like permission, or...
Or the commodore was playing coy.
But mayhap the man was just being scathingly mocking again. Jack could not be sure, but his instincts told him that he would not actually be killed by James upon his next visit to Port Royal, so long as he kept the visit discreet as usual.
Feeling strangely light-headed, Jack reached for his already half-drained bottle of rum and took a healthy swig.
Never once had he entertained the idea that the commodore would both take him seriously and succeed at freeing himself in a manner creative enough that Jack would not have ever thought of it. Then again, Jack knew himself to think like a pirate, so this decidedly naval tack on things was rather foreign to him.
Once again, he had apparently underestimated one Commodore James Bloody Norrington. Jack might have been irritated, or even unnerved, if he were not so aroused by the whole matter.
This naval officer was acting in a manner most improper, yet in the most gentlemanly way possible: the opposite of a pirate in so many ways and yet with such an intriguing wicked streak: hidden treasure which Jack wanted very badly to further unearth so that he could see all the facet of it, and feel it under his hands.
Captain Jack Sparrow wanted this gentlman, in a very bad way. Blast the navy, Jack’s piratical nature demanded he go after what he wanted; however, piracy also endorsed the policy of running away from immanent death, and James Norrington was sharp and dangerous and potentially lethal, more so than anyone in Jack’s already impressive track record of inadvisable relationships.
He went to take a final gulp of rum, but found that he had managed to empty the bottle. “I see it, then. Norrington ’s why the rum’s always gone.” He scowled. It should be worrisome, Jack reflected, that even this realization did not make the commodore any less appealing.
He had been sincere, in offering the man freedom. Had James accepted, he would have become first mate of the Black Pearl just as soon as Jack caught a little ship to offer Anamaria her chance at captaincy.
James had found something better, without Jack offering any help at all. He was all out of leverage with this man; and yet...
Backpedalling, Jack reconsidered. He had one last bit of leverage: a stolen kiss.
He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the taste of the freshly-woken commodore’s mouth, the startled but surprisingly passionate response just for that moment...
Jack knew, even as he had pulled away, that he might have taken the commodore right there, or been taken by him more likely. But James might have also put a stop to the seduction, the commodore’s natural suspicion being so strong.
By going about it this way, by playing this game, Jack was learning more about his opponent. The fact that Norrington had gone along with it in a manner that was more playful than begrudging spoke volumes about the commodore’s sense of humor, moral flexibility, sportsmanship, and genuine wish to avoid more violent and lethal forms of conflict with one Jack Sparrow.
It was heartening, that was sure.
But the man was suspicious, Jack knew. The way that James had explained his personal form of freedom...it said much about where the man was inflexible: his honor, his loyalty to those who relied upon him, and his sincere wish to do what was right by him in the only way that he knew how.
Morality, always getting in the way, Jack thought. But then another part of his mind said, Ah, but loyalty? Honor? Rare, precious things, those are: at least as rare and lovely and valuable as gold, if not more, because they’re also more useful than gold, mate. Gold isself can’t keep a bed warm, for all that it can buy a bed-warmer, but even then the bed-warmer might be right questionable, like a potentially mutinous crew. Jack shuddered.
Loyalty and honor were things that Jack seldom ran into amongst his professional peers, but they were eminently desirable, especially for a man betrayed as often as Captain Jack Sparrow.
But Jack, too, was suspicious by nature, for obvious reasons. He wanted to be sure that he wasn’t chasing a mirage caused by the commodore’s prettiness, that was leading him to see treasure where there was, in fact, a deathtrap.
One more month, he thought. And then we’ll see, James.
Previous || Story Index || Next
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Sparrington
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I have no claim on POTC or the lovely characters who populate it, even if it seems that James Norrington has, somewhat disconcertingly, made himself quite at home in my head with no apparent plans to leave. Jack Sparrow has been dropping by at random for years, as well, which surely doesn’t help matters.
Summary: James' brother proves useful. Jack tests the waters via mail. James warily plays coy. There is, once more, a linen sheet involved.
Warnings: This isn't very well proofread. Sorry.
Note: Libertas quae sera tamen translates to: "Liberty, even when it comes late" which is the state motto of Minas Gerais, Brazil.
James' brother's character is loosely based on a mixture of personalities: Teddy Roosevelt, Lawrence of Arabia (the classic movie version) and Lt. Colonel Nicholson from the movie Bridge Over the River Kwai, which I felt would provide the perfect mix of enthusiasm, madness, apparent intractability, and wit. Such a man having a younger brother of equal intelligence but with infinitely deeper reserves of unflappable calm, I felt, would make for an interesting fraternal relationship. That relationship, in turn, was loosely based on my own relationship with my mother, who also tends to unnerve people whilst I sit there going, "Really? You're afraid of her? That's hilarious," and then calmly sip my tea.
Two Months Post-Challenge
Joshamee Gibbs’ onshore duties included news-gathering, because he could absorb information, tales and rumors like a sponge; and for all that he did not usually interpret them correctly, he could repeat them to his captain accurately, when pressed.
Jack was not wholly surprised by the grim expression on his quartermaster’s face, or by the ominous voice in which Gibbs said, “We’d be best off layin’ low a bit, or else keep ourselves outta Jamaican waters for the next month, Cap’n.”
Bracing himself for a tale of some kind of curse or portent of bad luck, Jack inquired delicately, “An’ why’s that, Mr. Gibbs?”
Gibbs winced. “Two Norringtons in the same waters is more’n bad luck--’s outright damnation; the commodore’s bad enough, Jack, but now his bloody vice-admiral brother is comin’, takin’ a holiday to visit him.” He was pale as a sheet. “Jack, when it comes to huntin’ pirates, they’re cut from the same cloth: too bloody clever an’ good at what they do.”
Momentarily stunned, Jack could only blink a few times in surprise. “Tell me more about him, mate, before I decide he’s that much of a threat. You said he’ll be on holiday. Surely he won’t be too keen to hunt pirates on his time off...”
Gibbs shook his head. “Jack...you don’t know ‘em. The commodore’s gentleman-like even to our ilk. The vice-admiral is as smart as the commodore, but also summat of a sportsman if you get my meanin’. The pirates aroun’ his part of the world, ‘round India an’ the cape, they call him the foxhunter.”
“And they call the commodore ‘Death Himself’, mate,” Jack countered. “‘Foxhunter’ sounds almost cuddly in comparison to that.”
“Death Himself just strikes ya down: quick an’ clean, merciful like a gentleman should be. The foxhunter chases ye through the woods ‘til yer half-mad an’ too weak to keep runnin’, then lets his hounds tear ye apart,” Gibbs said solemnly. Something like steel glinted in his all-too-sober gaze. “The commodore was never a flogging captain. The vice-admiral was.”
Jack’s eyebrows raised. “You served under him, too, I take it?”
“Before I made it to the Caribbees, aye. Didn’t help me get along with his brother, at first, as ye can guess.” He looked thoughtful for a long moment, then shook his head. “You want to take down ships in British waters while both Norringtons are in the same place, an’ you’ll need yerself a new quartermaster for the duration, Jack.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “That bad?”
“The commodore almost caught us last time, an’ his brother’s just as keen. Let’s not see what they can come up with together.”
A cold shiver ran down Jack’s spine. “Point made.” He had to wonder what on earth was going on in Port Royal, and whether it would interfere with some of his plans for the good commodore: plans involving bare skin and white linen. Mayhap he should check.
Lawrence Norrington, planned to spend a week and a half in Port Royal, before taking a working-tour through a few other ports in the area. His face was marred along one cheekbone by a long red scar; older than his brother by five years, and with fairer hair but the same sea-green eyes, he looked like a middle-aged lion, not quite out of his prime and able to outwit any younger men looking to take his position. “The Navy is ever-resourceful, these days, and for all that this is not my hemisphere of expertise, they want me to take a look at things here and there, make sure that the chain of command and other areas are well-disciplined. They do, however, know better by now than to ask me to personally check on how efficiently their budgets are handled.”
“Ah yes,” James mused, his tones airy and mocking. “Your spending habits and the profligacy thereof.”
Lawrence’s eyes narrowed with mixed amusement and viciousness. His smile was as sharp as his sarcasm. “Oh, do mock me with your prudence. Tell me again, James, why is it that I had to bring two new ships with me from England whilst I happened to be in the area?”
“One is a replacement, one to necessarily expand the fleet. We have, of late, had a number of problems-” Calm and aloof as usual.
“Many of which seem to originate from one single pirate.” Mocking, biting.
“Yes. I have been reading up on his history, however, and note that before the East India Company caught him, he had slipped between your fingers...how many times?” James’ voice was perfectly serene, but his eyes were bright with schadenfreude.
Lawrence frowned, looking as though he might growl, if he were not so proper to the very nines. “I was a younger man, then. Barely a captain-”
James turned to Elizabeth with a smirk. “Four.”
Breakfast at the governor’s house this week was going splendidly. Governor Swann was exceedingly nervous and far quieter than usual. William Turner, who had joined them as was occasionally his habit of recent, was positively terrified. Elizabeth was caught between awe, fear, and deep amusement.
“Three!” Lawrence protested.
“Ah, but you fail to take one into account: you were docked beside the ship he stole in order to make his characteristically over-dramatic escape, and you tried to give chase, but...”
Lawrence frowned. “You are most flagitiously cruel to me, my dearest brother.”
“Did he disable the rudder chain, perhaps?” Elizabeth inquired innocently.
Both Norringtons turned to look at her: Lawrence did so sharply and with a hint of chagrinned confusion, and James’ expression was unflappably calm except for the way that his eyes fairly glowed with contained laughter. Elizabeth felt vaguely as though she had interrupted an argument between a pair of wolves.
“Yes,” Lawrence said, with obvious reluctance. “Are you well acquainted with tales of this pirate then, Miss Swann?”
“Well, they did rise in popularity after he caused so much chaos in town,” she said, sounding demure. “For a time, it was difficult to find any social gathering, even amongst the most respectable persons, wherein tales of Jack Sparrow were not talked of for at least an hour. Also, I’ve met the pirate in question, which, I am sure, instigated a number of such discussions in my presence.”
“You’ve ‘met’ him?” Lawrence’s gaze was piercing.
“Oh yes. He threatened my life within minutes of saving it; both actions, I believe, were doubtlessly for his own selfish purposes.” When Lawrence looked again at his brother, Elizabeth winked at Will, who hid a smirk behind his teacup.
“This was shortly before he stole the Interceptor,” James explained, to his brother’s questioning look. He then carefully redirected Lawrence’s attentions towards the situation in Singapore: as graceful as the sweep of a matador’s red cape.
Later, after Lawrence had apologized profusely for having a previous engagement but exited anyway, Elizabeth made a point of seeing to her father’s distraction for a few minutes. Once he was out of the room, Elizabeth turned to James. “You are even more clever than I thought; bravo, James. My father may well be terrified of the both of you now, after that performance. Even Will was unnerved.”
“It was like watching you put your head in a lion’s mouth,” Will muttered to James, “and emerge without a scratch.”
“My brother can be overwhelming to most people, but after years of experience, I am immune. I see through him easily.” James smirked. “I had almost forgotten how entertaining it is to see other people’s reactions to him, and then their reactions to the way I respond to him.”
“Like a bullfighter,” Elizabeth mused.
“Apt, I suppose, Elizabeth: it did also remind me of watching you persuade your father into changing his mind,” Will observed.
She frowned a little. “But father is not so terrifying.”
“No, but he is at least as powerful and unpredictable; he is also, however, more temperamental, sensitive and fickle; I cannot predict him as I can my brother.” James raised his eyebrows. “I agree very much with Will; it was the same ‘bullfighting’ concept which gave me the idea to invite Lawrence here, as I knew that he was due for a holiday soon. I felt that, with this visit, that your father’s perception of me would change, in a number of useful ways.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You are a little bit mad, I think, Commodore.”
“Mad enough,” James admitted, with a hint of a smirk.
“Yes, I think so.”
James’ smirk darkened into something outright evil.
Will’s brow furrowed. “I’m missing something here, aren’t I?”
Elizabeth shot James a questioning look.
He nodded.
“I promise that I shall tell you later,” she murmured. Then, in an even lower tone, she added, “It’s to do with Jack.”
Will winced.
James soon made his excuses, and headed back to the fort.
He was surprised to find a parcel on his desk. The paper that wrapped it was plain, and battered from travel. It was addressed, in unfamiliar and flourishing handwriting, to Commodore Norrington, but bore no marking in relation to who had sent it. James opened it, his face alight with curiosity.
His face soon reddened as he realized the meaning of the package’s contents: a single, neatly folded, linen bedsheet, and a note.
The unfolded note, again in that unfamiliar writing, read:
I heard about your visitor, commodore, and have wisely decided to embrace that oldest and noblest of pirate traditions: running the Hell away from that which is clearly mortiferous. He will not, however, keep me away in another month, love. How goes your progress?
It then instructed him to send reply through William Turner.
“My God, they were both serious.” That was the first thing Will said. Then, after a pause and a bit of confused sputtering, he asked, “Commodore, why-”
“Because, Mr. Turner, I am not a fool, a coward, or a self-righteous zealot incapable of admitting not only my own faults, but those of the law and the navy as well. That is all you need know.” He handed over a thick envelope addressed to one Captain J.S. of the Black Pearl.
Captain Sparrow,
Libertas quae sera tamen
Your challenge is met. If you must know more, ask Elizabeth Swann, as she provided me some assistance in the whole matter. Governor Swann remains my patron, despite being mildly afraid of me, for which my brother’s visit and my own skills can be blamed. My position here in what England believes to be the wilderness, on the far outskirts of civilization, gives me the ability to maintain my position, whilst also giving me the liberty to either ignore or subvert most any orders from my superiors that I might need or wish to.
I am where I want to be, doing what it is that I have always dreamed of doing. That, I do believe, qualifies as freedom.
The question is, do you still have something else to offer, or will your promised return to Port Royal be merely to assure yourself of the reality of my success? I do wonder. One more month.
Commodore James Norrington
P.S.,
For the love of God, do not send any more bedsheets you shameless hussy.
Jack was not sure whether he should laugh or be offended. He could not be sure, but he suspected that, in this letter, the commodore was...playing coy. Staring at it with pure disbelief, Jack wondered idly if it was some kind of trick, but quickly dismissed the idea. James had taken the challenge, treated it seriously, and therefore viewed Jack as an equal, an opponent worth matching; the commodore’s honor would not allow him to stoop so low as to write a dishonestly flirtatious letter to such a rival as that.
He reread the letter once, then twice more.
Norrington--James, Jack reminded himself--had well and truly dismissed the chance at a life of piracy. He had probably put a lot of thought into it, as well. He had gone out of his way to show a pirate captain that a form of freedom was possible even whilst remaining in the bloody navy.
It was the sort of thing that should have been accompanied by some kind of phrase equivalent to: so there, you stupid pirate, I’ve outwitted you and you should therefore stay out of Port Royal or else I shall either shoot you on sight if you climb in my window again or just take you to the gallows in the morning.
Ah, but there was no such phrase in this letter.
Commodore James Norrington had made no attempt to dissuade Jack from visiting again. He had just...wondered about what would happen when Jack did return. It was almost like permission, or...
Or the commodore was playing coy.
But mayhap the man was just being scathingly mocking again. Jack could not be sure, but his instincts told him that he would not actually be killed by James upon his next visit to Port Royal, so long as he kept the visit discreet as usual.
Feeling strangely light-headed, Jack reached for his already half-drained bottle of rum and took a healthy swig.
Never once had he entertained the idea that the commodore would both take him seriously and succeed at freeing himself in a manner creative enough that Jack would not have ever thought of it. Then again, Jack knew himself to think like a pirate, so this decidedly naval tack on things was rather foreign to him.
Once again, he had apparently underestimated one Commodore James Bloody Norrington. Jack might have been irritated, or even unnerved, if he were not so aroused by the whole matter.
This naval officer was acting in a manner most improper, yet in the most gentlemanly way possible: the opposite of a pirate in so many ways and yet with such an intriguing wicked streak: hidden treasure which Jack wanted very badly to further unearth so that he could see all the facet of it, and feel it under his hands.
Captain Jack Sparrow wanted this gentlman, in a very bad way. Blast the navy, Jack’s piratical nature demanded he go after what he wanted; however, piracy also endorsed the policy of running away from immanent death, and James Norrington was sharp and dangerous and potentially lethal, more so than anyone in Jack’s already impressive track record of inadvisable relationships.
He went to take a final gulp of rum, but found that he had managed to empty the bottle. “I see it, then. Norrington ’s why the rum’s always gone.” He scowled. It should be worrisome, Jack reflected, that even this realization did not make the commodore any less appealing.
He had been sincere, in offering the man freedom. Had James accepted, he would have become first mate of the Black Pearl just as soon as Jack caught a little ship to offer Anamaria her chance at captaincy.
James had found something better, without Jack offering any help at all. He was all out of leverage with this man; and yet...
Backpedalling, Jack reconsidered. He had one last bit of leverage: a stolen kiss.
He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the taste of the freshly-woken commodore’s mouth, the startled but surprisingly passionate response just for that moment...
Jack knew, even as he had pulled away, that he might have taken the commodore right there, or been taken by him more likely. But James might have also put a stop to the seduction, the commodore’s natural suspicion being so strong.
By going about it this way, by playing this game, Jack was learning more about his opponent. The fact that Norrington had gone along with it in a manner that was more playful than begrudging spoke volumes about the commodore’s sense of humor, moral flexibility, sportsmanship, and genuine wish to avoid more violent and lethal forms of conflict with one Jack Sparrow.
It was heartening, that was sure.
But the man was suspicious, Jack knew. The way that James had explained his personal form of freedom...it said much about where the man was inflexible: his honor, his loyalty to those who relied upon him, and his sincere wish to do what was right by him in the only way that he knew how.
Morality, always getting in the way, Jack thought. But then another part of his mind said, Ah, but loyalty? Honor? Rare, precious things, those are: at least as rare and lovely and valuable as gold, if not more, because they’re also more useful than gold, mate. Gold isself can’t keep a bed warm, for all that it can buy a bed-warmer, but even then the bed-warmer might be right questionable, like a potentially mutinous crew. Jack shuddered.
Loyalty and honor were things that Jack seldom ran into amongst his professional peers, but they were eminently desirable, especially for a man betrayed as often as Captain Jack Sparrow.
But Jack, too, was suspicious by nature, for obvious reasons. He wanted to be sure that he wasn’t chasing a mirage caused by the commodore’s prettiness, that was leading him to see treasure where there was, in fact, a deathtrap.
One more month, he thought. And then we’ll see, James.
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