Newbie saying Hi!
Hi all... I'm new here. Have been lurking around for a while, soaking up all the yummy Norrington goodness... Then I felt guilty and thought I better post a story of my own..
So here it is... It's had some good reviews over at fanfiction.net, so hopefully its ok... And hopefully i've figured out the L-J cut thingy...
Title: Longing
Author: JuliansGIrl11
Pairing: Norribeth (of course!), mentions Willabeth
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own any of it! I do however, own my very own Scruffington action figure! But that's all
Notes: Set after AWE. SPOILERS!!! Certain events from the film didn't happen in my universe, some did..
Obviously Norrington is still around. Will however (gladly) is not!
She longs for passion.
She longs for the past when Will was still around, and loving her. She misses the intense gazes, eyes locked over the deck of a ship, and she misses the stolen kisses, intense and needy. She longs for the knowledge that their love is forbidden, not allowed for she is his better. She the Governor’s daughter, he is the son of a pirate. She misses the adventure, sailing the seas, sword fights, open sea battles, all cannons firing. She misses the danger, knowing that every moment could be her last, and living her life in the moment. She misses the knowledge that she is free.
But now she is married, not to the man she loves, for he is gone, but to a man who loves her. She no longer goes to sea, the memories being too painful. Most days she sits in the garden, under a tree in the chair he built for her, and gazes out at the horizon. She sees the ships resting in the harbour and her heart aches for the open water. And so she sits, under that tree in that chair, and remembers the time when she felt most alive.
Most days she sits outside till night falls. She hears her new husband come home, and she does not move. She hears him call out her name, and she sits still. Then she hears him go into his study, and close the door softly behind him. And every day she packs her heart with a little more ice, knowing that he will never be able to give her what she needs most.
Mealtimes are quiet. There is no talk of events that occurred that day. There is not even idle chatter about the weather, or news of friends about town. Truth is she has no friends. Since her marriage, she has shut her self away in that house on the hill, and spends her days alone, save for the company of the servants, and her husband in the evenings. She no longer feels the need for socialising, preferring to sit quietly and remember the days where she was on a boat on the open sea, searching for treasure and adventure.
After dinner they retire, each to their own chambers. She wonders sometimes what it would be like to share her chambers with a man, having her possessions and his mingling in intimate contact. Her hairbrush next to his hat, their clothes pressed together in the closet. But with all these wonderings, she never imagines her husband being that man. It’s always the man she lost, the one she lost to the seas. And so she lives in her chambers alone, filled with just her own possessions, and at the end of the day, climbing into that vast, cold bed, to spend the night alone.
Occasionally, very occasionally, after the house is quiet she will go to her husband. She never knocks, just eases the door open and crosses the room to climbs into bed. He is always awake, it always seems like he has been waiting for her, like he knows she is coming. He turns to her, as she eases between the covers, and waits. Always waits. She lever looks at him, lying on her back staring at the ceiling. But she reaches out to find his hand, and he takes hers, and with a soft kiss on the back of it, he starts loving her. Slowly, gently, always gently, as if he is afraid that she will break if he is not. She knows that he loves her, she can tell by the reverent manner in which he gathers her into his arms, lays delicate kisses over her face and neck, the adoring way he peels her nightgown from her body. She closes her eyes as he moves over her, almost as if being able to see him in these moments would make it unbearable, knowing that it is him here with her, and not who she expected to live out her life with.
Afterwards they lie side by side in silence. There is nothing to say to each other, as they lie there in the darkness. She stays in his bed until she hears his breathing even out, and knows that he has fallen asleep. Then she gathers her nightgown, tears beginning to form in her eyes, breath hitching, and she softly crosses to the door and returns to her room. In the privacy of her own space, she allows the tears to come, crying for all the things she has lost in her life, her love, her adventure, her freedom. She does not return to bed on those nights, instead she sits in the window seat and stares out at the moon until the first rays of sun break the horizon. Then, she sleeps.
And dreams of days where her life was filled with freedom, adventure, love, and above all, passion.
He longs for passion.
He longs for a day when her thoughts will be no longer filled with that past love, and she is free, free to live and free to experience the world around her once again. He longs for the day when he will be able to take her on to a ship again, and see the joy light her face as she remembers the freedom that comes with the open ocean. He longs for a day when she no longer yearns for the love of the pirate’s son, and sees him for what he is, a man of the sea, who loves her more than he ever thought was possible. The match was a good one, her the Governor’s daughter, him a ranking officer of the Royal Navy, and yet, it’s not what she wanted. He’s not who she wanted.
But now they are married, him to the woman he’s always loved and her to the man who would have her, even after her love left taking her heart and soul with him. He spends his days in his office at the fort, or on a ship, drowning himself in work, so he has no time to feel his heart breaking a little more each day. When he is on his ship, he gazes out to the horizon, and remembers the days when she would sail, the days he spent as a pirate, and they stood side by side, each on equal footing, both running from their former lives, without the company of that man who held the attention of the woman he’s always loved.
Most days he comes home late. He comes home, and does not hear her stirring in the house. He calls out her name, in the hopes that this time she will answer. But she does not. So he goes into his study, shutting the door softly behind him. He pours himself a snifter of brandy, and stares idly at his maps, dreaming of the places he would love to take her, let her experience things that would bring her joy. And every day he packs his heart with a little more ice, knowing that she will never be able to accept what he most wants to give her.
At dinner, she is silent. She chews slowly, staring into nothingness. He feels like he needs to break the silence, even if it is talk about the weather, or anecdotes about acquaintances of theirs. Truth is, he stays silent for fear of breaking her further, making her retreat into herself more. He knows she has no friends, spending all of the days in their house on the hill, and it hurts him to know that this once social woman no longer feels the need for company, preferring her solitude in that chair under the tree and dream of days long gone.
After dinner she disappears, and he hears the soft click of the door to her chamber closing. Closing him out. After she has gone above stairs, he sees no need to remain downstairs alone. The house is dark, and he shivers at the feeling of emptiness. So he retires to his chambers with another brandy, and begins his nightly ritual. He removes his wig, and sets it on the bureau. He sometimes wonders what it would be like if she shared his chambers with him. Her bottles of scent on the dresser next to his pistol, their shoes lined next to each other in the closet. But he knows that she will never consent to that. She needs her space, needs to have room to let her demons roam free, reminding her of the things she had in the past and can never have again. And so he lives in his chambers alone, alone with his longing, cursed to spend the long nights alone, between those cold sheets.
Occasionally, very occasionally, after the house is quiet she will come to him. Never knocking, she just silently lets herself in, and slips between the covers to lie next to him. He is always awake, he always knows when she is coming to him. He can see it in her face, as he arrives home, as she sits across from him at the dinner table. The look of such utter loneliness which makes her yearn for human contact, no matter how fleeting, no matter that it is not with the man she loves, but the man that was left behind. He rolls on to his side, facing her and he waits. He longs for these times, despite the bittersweet pangs he has in his heart, knowing that she wishes it was another man in the bed with her. But she gives herself freely, and so he waits. He waits until she reaches out her hand for his, signalling that she is ready. He moves slowly, carefully, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, so as not to spook her. And he starts loving her. Gently, always gently, afraid that if he loses of control of his passion for her that she will break. He knows that she knows of his love for her, he can tell from the way she allows him to gather her in his arms and press kisses gently over her face and neck. A shard of pain pierces his heart each time she flinches as he gently peels her nightgown from her body, and the way she closes her eyes as he moves to rest above her. He knows that she is not with him in these moments, instead imagining herself away with the man who holds her heart, imagining that it is him moving within her, and not the man she is married to.
Afterwards they lie together in the darkness, next to each other, yet not quite touching. He knows these moments are the hardest for her, having given her body to a man she doesn’t love, and yet he longs for these moments, when she is right there next to him. He knows she is waiting for him to sleep so she can leave, so he evens his breathing out and lies still. He can hear the breath catch in her throat, and can imagine the tears welling in her eyes. His heart breaks a little more, each time she leaves, silently gathering her nightgown and leaving his room. He does not sleep on those nights, instead staring out the window and at the distant moon, until the sky lightens with the dawn. Then, he sleeps.
And dreams of a time when she will be able to break free from the bonds of her old love, and start a new life with him. A life of freedom, adventure, love, and above all, passion.