(no subject)
Title: Symphony: Second Movement
Series Number: 2/?
Pairing: Norrington/Elizabeth
Rating: Pg-13 [Future R and NC-17.]
Notes: Thanks so much to my wonderful, beautiful, brilliant BETA and fellow Norribeth enthusiast niankhsekhmet!
The weariness in Elizabeth's eyes was evident, even from across the great expanse of the breakfast table. The morning went on with its typical hustle and bustle. Maids zoomed in and out of the kitchen, butlers straightened out the misplaced nick-knacks and other such nonsense at their leisure. Governor Swann toyed mindlessly with his porridge, poking at it with his silver spoon. But he could not draw himself away from the dull and lifeless expression on his daughter's face.
"Is something troubling you, my dear?" he asked politely. He dipped his spoon into the hot cereal and daintily inserted the mush into his mouth. Not enough molasses. He added more.
The Governor's voice was hardly audible to Elizabeth. The buzz of her own blurry mind made her deaf. Perhaps it was her loss of sleep that made her so imperceptible to sound as well. Though in her dreams she had heard her fill of music. At length her father asked her again, and she jumped in her seat, startled out of her reverie.
"Yes," stammered she. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."
"You don't look well, Elizabeth. Look at the condition of your eyes. You are not ill, I hope?" The Governor smiled inwardly to himself. He knew very well that she was not ill. Though lovesick perhaps...? Oh, if only it were so!
"No. Not ill. Simply...exhausted. I'm afraid I slept very little last night."
"Well it's a certainly a surprise," Governor Swann began nonchalantly. "You did leave the party very early." A glimmering look, a sly grin hidden in the corner of her father's mouth.
"Yes. I was a bit...indisposed."
He murmured into his napkin: "That so much was clear." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow to his mumbling and the Governor waved her off with the white cloth. "Nothing, my dear. Are you sure you aren't coming down with something, Elizabeth? We are nearing Malaria season."
"No, Father, I am most certain that I have not been infected with Malaria. I have not been bitten since last month."
"So you say." The Governor forgot to muffle his words. Perhaps it was best that she heard them after all.
"Father!"
"Still, do be careful with your health, my dear. It wouldn't be seemly for you to be indisposed at every social function this season now would it, hmm?"
"Thank you," Elizabeth retorted snappishly. Fire danced in her eyes. She appreciated her father's frankness, but not now, at this moment. Not when her mind and heart were so heavily weighed by consequence. "I shall be more aware of it from now on. Will you excuse me?"
Elizabeth did not allow time for her father to reply before she sped from the room, all hell and fury aglow in her amber eyes. The butler sidled out of her way and opened the front door only at her brimstone gaze's request. Frederick knew how tempestuous the young Miss Swann could be when in a temper, and it was no use in asking her of her condition or trying to coax her into a better disposition.
Out she flew, and into the stables she jaunted, until at last commissioning the stable boy to saddle up her sable gelding, Cornelius. She didn't want to take Darcey the mare because she tended to be too slow and inefficient. Better to take Cornelius, who was a more spirited ride and of better stock. Elizabeth climbed sidesaddle onto his strong back, and rode out into the soothing green pastures of the orchard.
James was no better suited for the tribulations of the morning than Elizabeth. All night he had hashed over the events of the gala with bitter cynicism and agitated fret. If it were physically possible, the man would have kicked himself in the head. Over and over in the midnight hour he had vapulated himself with guilt and worry.
He was out of place, out of line! Had he really done what he had done? Had he, Commodore James Edward Norrington, danced with Elizabeth Swann, seduced her in the moonlight, kissed her lips, savored the scent of her flesh...? It couldn't be true! It couldn't be so! O, unhappy day that he should bring such misprision and woe upon himself.
Furiously the quill scratched upon the paper. Spots of black ink spattered the clean parchment and smudged with his careless hand. Norrington's script was perfectly rounded, soft at the loops and hard at the lines and crosses. The paper looked a mess. There was no way he could possibly send this to the Governor in hopes that his sincere apology would be accepted. Such messy carelessness! No, he must apologize in person. It was the honorable thing to do after all.
A faint knock came at the office door. No! No visitors! No assailants! No pirates, no ladies, no dinner, no battles. Just peace and solitude!
"Enter."
Without ever looking up, Norrington knew that it was Gillette, his first lieutenant, who entered the room. One could sense the man's presence anywhere. His ego filled the room and stifled all.
"What is it, lieutenant?"
"Sir, the rest of the company was beginning to wonder if you'd fallen ill. You've not been outdoors all day."
"I've been...indisposed."
Gillette crept behind his superior officer and friend and settled a firm hand on Norrington's desk. His palm came up black with ink. He peered down at the scribble upon the parchment and smirked knowingly. Gossip got around the men in Port Royal just as quickly as the women.
"Are you sure you're all right, Sir? Your eyes confess what you do not."
"I am fine, Gillette. That will do."
"Might I have the maid fetch you some tea, Sir? You know it is malaria season soon. "
"No, Gillette, that will do."
"But, Sir, I-"
"That will do, lieutenant!" Norrington boomed. He crumpled the letter in his hand, smudging the dark ink over his thumb and forefinger.
Gillette nodded and quickly vacated. There was no need for a court marshal. But oh how pleased the boys would be to hear that the rumors were true. Their own Commodore, a seducer of young women! A riot, it was! A riot!
Clouds were beginning to gather overhead. Gray and ominous, slow moving and low too the ground. It made the crystal waters of Port Royal turn a muted dark green, and little white caps lined each wave as they lapped at the beach. The sand hissed and moaned with each crash of water, the wind whistled violently. Norrington shuddered. Rain.
It came down softly at first. Tiny droplets spattered delicate patterns upon the dark blue of his heavy coat and hat. But soon the distant hum of far off thunder sounded, and the rain grew in size and fervor, plopping down in huge pellets, soaking all in its path. The Commodore was of no exception.
At long last he trampled over the hard gravel of the Swann Mansion walkway. He could hear the slush of trapped water between each tiny pebble, the crunch of wet dirt beneath his feet. The front door seemed damnably farther and farther away in the rain than it ever had been. It was beginning to grow cold, the cold tears of the sky seeped into James's skin. At last he sprinted for the front door, hiding under the canopy and biting his lower lip so that his teeth would not chatter. He knocked loudly. Anything, anything to get out of this dreadful mire.
After what seemed fathomless ages, the door opened, and a young maid greeted him with an astonishing little smile. She was well built woman, one certainly born to rear children, with a sweet mouth and soft gray eyes. A bit older than Elizabeth, the maid reminded him terribly of a kitchen servant once belonging to his mother. Norrington mustered a soft nod for a greeting, biting his lip again.
"Why, Commodore Norrington! So pleasant to see you! Oh, my. I'm afraid the Governor isn't in at the moment. He should be in good time. But, oh, bless me! Look at you! You're soaked to the bone! Please, please, come inside, and I shall fetch Frederick to find you something warm to wear. Frederick!"
"No, Miss, it's quite all right. I'll just be on my way an-"
"Oh, nonsense! You'll come right in and warm yourself up." And before James had one word or another with which to protest, he had been ushered inside by the maid's grabby hands, stripped of his wet coat and hat, and told to wipe his feet upon the small, embroidered carpet set out before the door.
"Miss Swann is in the music room, if you care to know it, Sir," the woman chirped. A busy body this one was. Norrington was already beginning to tire of her.
She picked at his clothing, removed his cravat. Anything that looked as if it could have been wet was immediately taken from his possession and handed off to another maid where it could be put to dry. And Norrington, feeling most naked in little more than his shirt and breeches (Those they certainly could not take from him!), darted his eyes about boyishly and bit his lip, this time however, out of embarrassment rather than chill.
The portly butler-Frederick, was it?-came tumbling down the stairs in a panicked flurry, some brightly colored cloth draped over his arm. Once he had reached the base of the stairs, the butler promptly shoved the clothing into the Commodore's unexpectant arms, nearly spilling the garment into the wet floor. So terribly sorry, he was, truly. James held up the coat and inspected it carefully. Red, bright red. Certainly not his best color, but one could not expect to be well suited when unpermissably borrowing clothing from the governor of Port Royal, Jamaica. James thanked the faithful servants and put the coat on if only just to appease them. And once satisfied, the crowd dispersed, preoccupied with so many other things that it would have been a wonder if they remembered the Commodore stood directly before them at all.
James did his best to smile at the situation, to find it amusing and not intolerable or annoying. His cheeks flushed with flabbergasted agitation, his mouth twitched, his eyes narrowed. But before he could become too cross with any events of the day, the soft tinkering of a piano's keys caught his ear. Soft and luminous. James had always held a fondness for the pianoforte. Silently he sighed and following the gentle din, found himself at the double paneled doorway of the Swann's music room.
The little studio was neither very large nor was it very small. Though to call it a music room would have been an insult. Long and flowing drapes of a floral pattern dangled gracefully from the windows, which, on any other day, would have let in the light of the sun. Shelves of books upon music and music theory littered the walls. A singular painting of a woman with a seashell pressed to her ear decorated the far end of the little chamber, lightening up its otherwise somber surroundings. And, of course, at the center of the room sat a large pianoforte of some deep and rusty colored wood that Norrington could not quite put his finger on the name of. The instrument, however, was of a ridiculous sort of beauty. Large and grand, and utterly breathtaking, it seemed somehow out of place in the room. As if its exotic hue were too great and adventurous for so miniscule a room.
But the crowning piece of all the studio's odd complexities was the young woman who sat upon an ornately carved bench, gently pressing her long and graceful fingers upon the ivory keys with such tender care and sweet attention that it seemed a nigh romantic gesture. But how lonesome her expression, how painfully slow and solicitous her movements! A wild bird of paradise in a gilded cage.
Norrington found himself entranced by her performance, leaning gently upon the frame of the doorway, leaning his head upon the polished wood. Had this been any other concert by any other man or maid, he would have closed his eyes and savored the tune, harvesting each note and reaping its ambrosial qualities. But James found that he could not shut his eyes to her. The way she so beautifully frowned with conviction, arched her back, and angled her wrists. The way she sensually stroked her fingertips along the keys. If only he were that pianoforte! If only his flesh were those ivory keys!
Elizabeth, however, did not appreciate her concert as much as the Commodore. And she kept her eyes closed throughout her playing, unknowing of her friend's presence. Her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth twitched. No, no, no! Wrong! All wrong! The music ceased. Elizabeth bit her lip.
At length, she sighed, and regained her composure. Straightening her back, Elizabeth began a new song, one much more pleasing to her. The keys felt much cooler than before, icy, but not cruelly cold. This time, the music came from her freely, willingly. It fled from her fingertips like blood. It pounded in her heart like it too. An imaginary violinist accompanied her, free from the other members of his quartet. Dancing bodies spun all around her. Her heart raced, her flesh burned.
Norrington wanted so to speak, to be closer, but he dared not move, and in fact, for a moment, he had forgotten to breathe. The song was so familiar. That same soft lilting tune, the bittersweet tempo. He could feel his feet beginning to move, his hands wrapping around an imaginary waist. He danced in his mind, over and over and over, until eternity seemed near, and at last she fell into his arms.
"Elizabeth..."
She jumped. No, she leapt into the air! A small and frightened yelp escaped her full lips and she pressed her hand to her heaving breast.
"Commodore...!"
"I'm...I'm terribly sorry. Forgive me. I didn't wish to disturb you." Apprehensively he approached, his visage twittering in and out of various stages of shock, shame and embarrassment. Elizabeth looked upon him. Her gaze told him her question. "I came to speak with...your father. And it began to rain, and I was soaked. And I do believe your maids attacked me, because before I was aware of myself I had been stripped of all but my dignity and given your father's coat to wear. I..." he was stammering. "Forgive me."
Elizabeth could not have done more in her particular position than to smile and nod mutely. She made to stand up cordially from the keyboard and he pleaded with her to remain seated. It took him a moment, but Norrington soon regained his nerves.
"I apologize if I have frightened you..."
"Merely startled, is all," said she, unable to look him in the eyes. Those stormy green eyes which had for the past night and day kept careful reign over her mind.
"My apologies."
"None are necesarry."
"Yes, of course. I'm sorr-" Cutting himself short, he grinned meekly at her. So beautiful she looked. So radiant and flushed. The paleness of her skin seemed to collect whatever light there was abound, draining it from all other areas of the room, making the corners grow dark and solemn. Elizabeth simply glowed.
A long moment passed, and with time, the Commodore slowly lowered himself beside her upon the piano stool. He looked to her briefly and averted his eyes awkwardly. The taste of her mouth still danced upon his lips. A phantom of dreams.
"You've a good ear," said James at last, thinking upon how well Elizabeth had just mimicked the song they had danced to only the night prior. He settled his hands upon the ivory keys. So cool, so well cared for and polished. It was clear that she took loving care of her instrument, or at least a very good maid or butler did.
"Thank you."
Delicately, James descended his fingers onto the keyboard. His movements were languid and easy. It was evident that he had a great deal of experience with such an instrument. "You did, however, forget this bar." He played it for her with an apt amount of skill and passion, closing his eyes, knowing the keys of a pianoforte as perfectly as any well-studied map. His brows slackened when he played. All the muscled in his face seemed to relax. It was rather a beautiful sight to behold.
When he had finished, Elizabeth looked to him, and for a moment they locked eyes. Sharp emeralds cut into her like daggers, and she could not ascertain why. This man, her confidant, whom she had hurt and betrayed and befriended, certainly could not be more than that...a companion. Yet her stomach turned over, her rib cage contracted.
Elizabeth straightened herself and pinched her expression into that of pure politic. Leisurely she played back the bar that he had shown her and looked back at him squarely in the eye. A challenge. For what? Her fingers twitched, her lips burned.
James smiled. He could not help himself. He found it odd how that with the more time he spent with Elizabeth, the more he smiled, and the more he became accustomed to it. That is not to say that James Norrington never smiled. No, for that would be untruthful. But until recently, he had very little to smile for.
"Valiant attempt, Miss Swann," said he, in his most professional tone before standing up and tucking his arms behind his back. He paced like an officer on duty. Finally he came behind her and hovered his arms out above her slim shoulders. His breath was hot on her neck. Elizabeth shivered so slightly, a tremor shot up her spine. "However, I believe that the note is this..."
His cheek nestled up against hers. James's skin was clean-shaven, but not soft. It was not as worn as his hands or weathered as his arms, but it was of a rougher texture than her own white flesh. Elizabeth closed her eyes to the velvety sound of Norrington humming along with the music he made. His voice was so low and rich, the piano so peaceful and flowing. The air about her constricted, she suffocated willingly, drowned herself in music and flesh.
"Elizabeth?...Elizabeth?...Eli-" He had been murmuring her name for some time now. Her breath was soft and hurried against his jaw. Her eyelashes fluttered, kissing the apples of her rosy cheeks.
Finally, Elizabeth opened her eyes. They filled immediately with the vast shorelines of viridescent, stormy sea; mountains upon mountains of pirate stolen emerald; calm and yet tempestuous irises of oceanic green.
"Elizabeth...wo-would it be impertinent of me," his lips drew closer. Elizabeth anticipated their luscious warmth, his callused hands on her cheek... "if I were to...to..." How she looked upon him! How gentle, how keen! Oh, that gorgeous length of her throat, that gentle curve of her young breast! A shot of liquid fire seared its way through his limbs. The two of them trembled as the heated acid rose within their bellies and spread through their veins. How they shivered, how they burned!
"To...?" Elizabeth whispered, leaving barely a hair's breadth between their lips. Norrington's fingertips traced silently along the sharp curvature of her jaw-
"Commodore, how nice to see you!" cried out the voice of Governor Swann. Norrington's heart jumped into his throat and he leapt out of his seat, shaking visibly.
"Governor Swann!"
"Are you two getting on well?" he asked, a glimmer in his eye. The man was as conniving and clever as a fox.
"Fine, father," Elizabeth stammered. Her heart shaped visage was bright pink.
"So, Commodore, Frederick tells me that you got trapped in the rain. How dreadful! Ah, but I see you've been well taken care of. Smashing coat, don't you think?"
"Yes, Sir. Lovely."
"Well, what business have you, then?"
"I...Well, I came to apologize for my forwardness and utter lack of tact and...and rudeness last night." He stumbled over his words. He was acting like a boy. Come off it, James! He scolded himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he took view of Elizabeth. So lovely a bird of paradise... "However...I should like to remedy my offences by asking again...for Elizabeth's hand. That is if she will have me." Large green eyes glanced over to her in the meekest and most tender of fashions; and Elizabeth's heart was not made of stone...
The Governor could hardly contain himself. The man was ready to burst with rapture. Such fortune! "How splendid! I was just in town to see if invitations could be arranged on such short notice! Would need to have plenty of time to ship them to the Commodore's family after all..."
"You what?" James stammered, astonished.
The old man shrugged unforgivingly and looked upon his daughter. She was getting so grown up! "Well, Elizabeth? What have you to say?"
Series Number: 2/?
Pairing: Norrington/Elizabeth
Rating: Pg-13 [Future R and NC-17.]
Notes: Thanks so much to my wonderful, beautiful, brilliant BETA and fellow Norribeth enthusiast niankhsekhmet!
The weariness in Elizabeth's eyes was evident, even from across the great expanse of the breakfast table. The morning went on with its typical hustle and bustle. Maids zoomed in and out of the kitchen, butlers straightened out the misplaced nick-knacks and other such nonsense at their leisure. Governor Swann toyed mindlessly with his porridge, poking at it with his silver spoon. But he could not draw himself away from the dull and lifeless expression on his daughter's face.
"Is something troubling you, my dear?" he asked politely. He dipped his spoon into the hot cereal and daintily inserted the mush into his mouth. Not enough molasses. He added more.
The Governor's voice was hardly audible to Elizabeth. The buzz of her own blurry mind made her deaf. Perhaps it was her loss of sleep that made her so imperceptible to sound as well. Though in her dreams she had heard her fill of music. At length her father asked her again, and she jumped in her seat, startled out of her reverie.
"Yes," stammered she. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."
"You don't look well, Elizabeth. Look at the condition of your eyes. You are not ill, I hope?" The Governor smiled inwardly to himself. He knew very well that she was not ill. Though lovesick perhaps...? Oh, if only it were so!
"No. Not ill. Simply...exhausted. I'm afraid I slept very little last night."
"Well it's a certainly a surprise," Governor Swann began nonchalantly. "You did leave the party very early." A glimmering look, a sly grin hidden in the corner of her father's mouth.
"Yes. I was a bit...indisposed."
He murmured into his napkin: "That so much was clear." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow to his mumbling and the Governor waved her off with the white cloth. "Nothing, my dear. Are you sure you aren't coming down with something, Elizabeth? We are nearing Malaria season."
"No, Father, I am most certain that I have not been infected with Malaria. I have not been bitten since last month."
"So you say." The Governor forgot to muffle his words. Perhaps it was best that she heard them after all.
"Father!"
"Still, do be careful with your health, my dear. It wouldn't be seemly for you to be indisposed at every social function this season now would it, hmm?"
"Thank you," Elizabeth retorted snappishly. Fire danced in her eyes. She appreciated her father's frankness, but not now, at this moment. Not when her mind and heart were so heavily weighed by consequence. "I shall be more aware of it from now on. Will you excuse me?"
Elizabeth did not allow time for her father to reply before she sped from the room, all hell and fury aglow in her amber eyes. The butler sidled out of her way and opened the front door only at her brimstone gaze's request. Frederick knew how tempestuous the young Miss Swann could be when in a temper, and it was no use in asking her of her condition or trying to coax her into a better disposition.
Out she flew, and into the stables she jaunted, until at last commissioning the stable boy to saddle up her sable gelding, Cornelius. She didn't want to take Darcey the mare because she tended to be too slow and inefficient. Better to take Cornelius, who was a more spirited ride and of better stock. Elizabeth climbed sidesaddle onto his strong back, and rode out into the soothing green pastures of the orchard.
James was no better suited for the tribulations of the morning than Elizabeth. All night he had hashed over the events of the gala with bitter cynicism and agitated fret. If it were physically possible, the man would have kicked himself in the head. Over and over in the midnight hour he had vapulated himself with guilt and worry.
He was out of place, out of line! Had he really done what he had done? Had he, Commodore James Edward Norrington, danced with Elizabeth Swann, seduced her in the moonlight, kissed her lips, savored the scent of her flesh...? It couldn't be true! It couldn't be so! O, unhappy day that he should bring such misprision and woe upon himself.
Furiously the quill scratched upon the paper. Spots of black ink spattered the clean parchment and smudged with his careless hand. Norrington's script was perfectly rounded, soft at the loops and hard at the lines and crosses. The paper looked a mess. There was no way he could possibly send this to the Governor in hopes that his sincere apology would be accepted. Such messy carelessness! No, he must apologize in person. It was the honorable thing to do after all.
A faint knock came at the office door. No! No visitors! No assailants! No pirates, no ladies, no dinner, no battles. Just peace and solitude!
"Enter."
Without ever looking up, Norrington knew that it was Gillette, his first lieutenant, who entered the room. One could sense the man's presence anywhere. His ego filled the room and stifled all.
"What is it, lieutenant?"
"Sir, the rest of the company was beginning to wonder if you'd fallen ill. You've not been outdoors all day."
"I've been...indisposed."
Gillette crept behind his superior officer and friend and settled a firm hand on Norrington's desk. His palm came up black with ink. He peered down at the scribble upon the parchment and smirked knowingly. Gossip got around the men in Port Royal just as quickly as the women.
"Are you sure you're all right, Sir? Your eyes confess what you do not."
"I am fine, Gillette. That will do."
"Might I have the maid fetch you some tea, Sir? You know it is malaria season soon. "
"No, Gillette, that will do."
"But, Sir, I-"
"That will do, lieutenant!" Norrington boomed. He crumpled the letter in his hand, smudging the dark ink over his thumb and forefinger.
Gillette nodded and quickly vacated. There was no need for a court marshal. But oh how pleased the boys would be to hear that the rumors were true. Their own Commodore, a seducer of young women! A riot, it was! A riot!
Clouds were beginning to gather overhead. Gray and ominous, slow moving and low too the ground. It made the crystal waters of Port Royal turn a muted dark green, and little white caps lined each wave as they lapped at the beach. The sand hissed and moaned with each crash of water, the wind whistled violently. Norrington shuddered. Rain.
It came down softly at first. Tiny droplets spattered delicate patterns upon the dark blue of his heavy coat and hat. But soon the distant hum of far off thunder sounded, and the rain grew in size and fervor, plopping down in huge pellets, soaking all in its path. The Commodore was of no exception.
At long last he trampled over the hard gravel of the Swann Mansion walkway. He could hear the slush of trapped water between each tiny pebble, the crunch of wet dirt beneath his feet. The front door seemed damnably farther and farther away in the rain than it ever had been. It was beginning to grow cold, the cold tears of the sky seeped into James's skin. At last he sprinted for the front door, hiding under the canopy and biting his lower lip so that his teeth would not chatter. He knocked loudly. Anything, anything to get out of this dreadful mire.
After what seemed fathomless ages, the door opened, and a young maid greeted him with an astonishing little smile. She was well built woman, one certainly born to rear children, with a sweet mouth and soft gray eyes. A bit older than Elizabeth, the maid reminded him terribly of a kitchen servant once belonging to his mother. Norrington mustered a soft nod for a greeting, biting his lip again.
"Why, Commodore Norrington! So pleasant to see you! Oh, my. I'm afraid the Governor isn't in at the moment. He should be in good time. But, oh, bless me! Look at you! You're soaked to the bone! Please, please, come inside, and I shall fetch Frederick to find you something warm to wear. Frederick!"
"No, Miss, it's quite all right. I'll just be on my way an-"
"Oh, nonsense! You'll come right in and warm yourself up." And before James had one word or another with which to protest, he had been ushered inside by the maid's grabby hands, stripped of his wet coat and hat, and told to wipe his feet upon the small, embroidered carpet set out before the door.
"Miss Swann is in the music room, if you care to know it, Sir," the woman chirped. A busy body this one was. Norrington was already beginning to tire of her.
She picked at his clothing, removed his cravat. Anything that looked as if it could have been wet was immediately taken from his possession and handed off to another maid where it could be put to dry. And Norrington, feeling most naked in little more than his shirt and breeches (Those they certainly could not take from him!), darted his eyes about boyishly and bit his lip, this time however, out of embarrassment rather than chill.
The portly butler-Frederick, was it?-came tumbling down the stairs in a panicked flurry, some brightly colored cloth draped over his arm. Once he had reached the base of the stairs, the butler promptly shoved the clothing into the Commodore's unexpectant arms, nearly spilling the garment into the wet floor. So terribly sorry, he was, truly. James held up the coat and inspected it carefully. Red, bright red. Certainly not his best color, but one could not expect to be well suited when unpermissably borrowing clothing from the governor of Port Royal, Jamaica. James thanked the faithful servants and put the coat on if only just to appease them. And once satisfied, the crowd dispersed, preoccupied with so many other things that it would have been a wonder if they remembered the Commodore stood directly before them at all.
James did his best to smile at the situation, to find it amusing and not intolerable or annoying. His cheeks flushed with flabbergasted agitation, his mouth twitched, his eyes narrowed. But before he could become too cross with any events of the day, the soft tinkering of a piano's keys caught his ear. Soft and luminous. James had always held a fondness for the pianoforte. Silently he sighed and following the gentle din, found himself at the double paneled doorway of the Swann's music room.
The little studio was neither very large nor was it very small. Though to call it a music room would have been an insult. Long and flowing drapes of a floral pattern dangled gracefully from the windows, which, on any other day, would have let in the light of the sun. Shelves of books upon music and music theory littered the walls. A singular painting of a woman with a seashell pressed to her ear decorated the far end of the little chamber, lightening up its otherwise somber surroundings. And, of course, at the center of the room sat a large pianoforte of some deep and rusty colored wood that Norrington could not quite put his finger on the name of. The instrument, however, was of a ridiculous sort of beauty. Large and grand, and utterly breathtaking, it seemed somehow out of place in the room. As if its exotic hue were too great and adventurous for so miniscule a room.
But the crowning piece of all the studio's odd complexities was the young woman who sat upon an ornately carved bench, gently pressing her long and graceful fingers upon the ivory keys with such tender care and sweet attention that it seemed a nigh romantic gesture. But how lonesome her expression, how painfully slow and solicitous her movements! A wild bird of paradise in a gilded cage.
Norrington found himself entranced by her performance, leaning gently upon the frame of the doorway, leaning his head upon the polished wood. Had this been any other concert by any other man or maid, he would have closed his eyes and savored the tune, harvesting each note and reaping its ambrosial qualities. But James found that he could not shut his eyes to her. The way she so beautifully frowned with conviction, arched her back, and angled her wrists. The way she sensually stroked her fingertips along the keys. If only he were that pianoforte! If only his flesh were those ivory keys!
Elizabeth, however, did not appreciate her concert as much as the Commodore. And she kept her eyes closed throughout her playing, unknowing of her friend's presence. Her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth twitched. No, no, no! Wrong! All wrong! The music ceased. Elizabeth bit her lip.
At length, she sighed, and regained her composure. Straightening her back, Elizabeth began a new song, one much more pleasing to her. The keys felt much cooler than before, icy, but not cruelly cold. This time, the music came from her freely, willingly. It fled from her fingertips like blood. It pounded in her heart like it too. An imaginary violinist accompanied her, free from the other members of his quartet. Dancing bodies spun all around her. Her heart raced, her flesh burned.
Norrington wanted so to speak, to be closer, but he dared not move, and in fact, for a moment, he had forgotten to breathe. The song was so familiar. That same soft lilting tune, the bittersweet tempo. He could feel his feet beginning to move, his hands wrapping around an imaginary waist. He danced in his mind, over and over and over, until eternity seemed near, and at last she fell into his arms.
"Elizabeth..."
She jumped. No, she leapt into the air! A small and frightened yelp escaped her full lips and she pressed her hand to her heaving breast.
"Commodore...!"
"I'm...I'm terribly sorry. Forgive me. I didn't wish to disturb you." Apprehensively he approached, his visage twittering in and out of various stages of shock, shame and embarrassment. Elizabeth looked upon him. Her gaze told him her question. "I came to speak with...your father. And it began to rain, and I was soaked. And I do believe your maids attacked me, because before I was aware of myself I had been stripped of all but my dignity and given your father's coat to wear. I..." he was stammering. "Forgive me."
Elizabeth could not have done more in her particular position than to smile and nod mutely. She made to stand up cordially from the keyboard and he pleaded with her to remain seated. It took him a moment, but Norrington soon regained his nerves.
"I apologize if I have frightened you..."
"Merely startled, is all," said she, unable to look him in the eyes. Those stormy green eyes which had for the past night and day kept careful reign over her mind.
"My apologies."
"None are necesarry."
"Yes, of course. I'm sorr-" Cutting himself short, he grinned meekly at her. So beautiful she looked. So radiant and flushed. The paleness of her skin seemed to collect whatever light there was abound, draining it from all other areas of the room, making the corners grow dark and solemn. Elizabeth simply glowed.
A long moment passed, and with time, the Commodore slowly lowered himself beside her upon the piano stool. He looked to her briefly and averted his eyes awkwardly. The taste of her mouth still danced upon his lips. A phantom of dreams.
"You've a good ear," said James at last, thinking upon how well Elizabeth had just mimicked the song they had danced to only the night prior. He settled his hands upon the ivory keys. So cool, so well cared for and polished. It was clear that she took loving care of her instrument, or at least a very good maid or butler did.
"Thank you."
Delicately, James descended his fingers onto the keyboard. His movements were languid and easy. It was evident that he had a great deal of experience with such an instrument. "You did, however, forget this bar." He played it for her with an apt amount of skill and passion, closing his eyes, knowing the keys of a pianoforte as perfectly as any well-studied map. His brows slackened when he played. All the muscled in his face seemed to relax. It was rather a beautiful sight to behold.
When he had finished, Elizabeth looked to him, and for a moment they locked eyes. Sharp emeralds cut into her like daggers, and she could not ascertain why. This man, her confidant, whom she had hurt and betrayed and befriended, certainly could not be more than that...a companion. Yet her stomach turned over, her rib cage contracted.
Elizabeth straightened herself and pinched her expression into that of pure politic. Leisurely she played back the bar that he had shown her and looked back at him squarely in the eye. A challenge. For what? Her fingers twitched, her lips burned.
James smiled. He could not help himself. He found it odd how that with the more time he spent with Elizabeth, the more he smiled, and the more he became accustomed to it. That is not to say that James Norrington never smiled. No, for that would be untruthful. But until recently, he had very little to smile for.
"Valiant attempt, Miss Swann," said he, in his most professional tone before standing up and tucking his arms behind his back. He paced like an officer on duty. Finally he came behind her and hovered his arms out above her slim shoulders. His breath was hot on her neck. Elizabeth shivered so slightly, a tremor shot up her spine. "However, I believe that the note is this..."
His cheek nestled up against hers. James's skin was clean-shaven, but not soft. It was not as worn as his hands or weathered as his arms, but it was of a rougher texture than her own white flesh. Elizabeth closed her eyes to the velvety sound of Norrington humming along with the music he made. His voice was so low and rich, the piano so peaceful and flowing. The air about her constricted, she suffocated willingly, drowned herself in music and flesh.
"Elizabeth?...Elizabeth?...Eli-" He had been murmuring her name for some time now. Her breath was soft and hurried against his jaw. Her eyelashes fluttered, kissing the apples of her rosy cheeks.
Finally, Elizabeth opened her eyes. They filled immediately with the vast shorelines of viridescent, stormy sea; mountains upon mountains of pirate stolen emerald; calm and yet tempestuous irises of oceanic green.
"Elizabeth...wo-would it be impertinent of me," his lips drew closer. Elizabeth anticipated their luscious warmth, his callused hands on her cheek... "if I were to...to..." How she looked upon him! How gentle, how keen! Oh, that gorgeous length of her throat, that gentle curve of her young breast! A shot of liquid fire seared its way through his limbs. The two of them trembled as the heated acid rose within their bellies and spread through their veins. How they shivered, how they burned!
"To...?" Elizabeth whispered, leaving barely a hair's breadth between their lips. Norrington's fingertips traced silently along the sharp curvature of her jaw-
"Commodore, how nice to see you!" cried out the voice of Governor Swann. Norrington's heart jumped into his throat and he leapt out of his seat, shaking visibly.
"Governor Swann!"
"Are you two getting on well?" he asked, a glimmer in his eye. The man was as conniving and clever as a fox.
"Fine, father," Elizabeth stammered. Her heart shaped visage was bright pink.
"So, Commodore, Frederick tells me that you got trapped in the rain. How dreadful! Ah, but I see you've been well taken care of. Smashing coat, don't you think?"
"Yes, Sir. Lovely."
"Well, what business have you, then?"
"I...Well, I came to apologize for my forwardness and utter lack of tact and...and rudeness last night." He stumbled over his words. He was acting like a boy. Come off it, James! He scolded himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he took view of Elizabeth. So lovely a bird of paradise... "However...I should like to remedy my offences by asking again...for Elizabeth's hand. That is if she will have me." Large green eyes glanced over to her in the meekest and most tender of fashions; and Elizabeth's heart was not made of stone...
The Governor could hardly contain himself. The man was ready to burst with rapture. Such fortune! "How splendid! I was just in town to see if invitations could be arranged on such short notice! Would need to have plenty of time to ship them to the Commodore's family after all..."
"You what?" James stammered, astonished.
The old man shrugged unforgivingly and looked upon his daughter. She was getting so grown up! "Well, Elizabeth? What have you to say?"