Secret Santa Story for Erinya
This is my Secret Santa story for erinya, who wanted a nice story about Norrington and Elizabeth. I gave her nice. And character death, angst, and seduction, too. Very A/U, of course. But what isn't, eh? Many thanks to hereswith and honorat for the editing and helpful comments.
~ True Heart ~
Fifteen months after her husband’s death at the hands of the blackguard pirate captain Gray Stryker and his crew of cutthroats, Elizabeth Turner stood beside her father to receive James Norrington and Jack Sparrow, who were returned from the expedition to capture or kill the murderer.
Jack gave her a brief nod that affirmed the success of the venture, but it was James who made the announcement, and in his soberest voice.
“Governor, Mrs. Turner: our quest has been successful. Gray Stryker is dead, and many of his crew as well. The rest are taken prisoner and are being transferred from the Dauntless to Fort Charles as we speak. There they will be tried and, no doubt, hanged.”
The Governor said, “James! This is excellent news! Excellent. Don’t you agree, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth nodded, feeling oddly numb, which was not at all what she had expected. “I… I’m glad it’s done,” she managed, finally. And it was an end, of sorts, she knew, even if she could not yet feel it.
Her father said to the men, “You must come in. We’ll drink a toast to your success - and to William, God rest him.”
But James said, “Perhaps later, sir. I wished to give you the news immediately, but must now return to the Dauntless. Please forgive me.”
“There’s certainly nothing to forgive, James,” said Swann, rather gently. “We shall see you later, then. Captain Sparrow? Will you join us?”
“I believe I shall,” said Jack. “Later, eh, Jamie?”
Norrington’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “I daresay.”
The Commodore bowed, formally, then took his leave, remounting his horse and urging it to a trot, then to a canter as he swept through the gates and headed down the hill.
*
“James killed him!” said the Governor, refilling Jack’s glass with the smoothest of aged rums.
Jack took another satisfied sip. “Ah! Jamaican Ambrosia!” He focused on the Governor again, though he shot a glance at Elizabeth. She sat a little straighter. “Aye, law-abiding Jamie. Didn’t think he had that kind of red work in him, but there you go: never know what a man’s really like ‘til the die’s cast. Could’ve knocked me over with a feather. I was sure we’d be listenin’ to that bas-er, that Stryker spoutin’ off all the way back to Port Royal - you know he had a mouth on ‘im? But no, James took good care o’ that.”
Elizabeth listened with half an ear while Jack rambled on. James killing a man in cold blood. It was wholly unlike him.
But when Jack was preparing to take his leave and her father had stepped from the room to call for the horse to be brought round, Elizabeth confronted the pirate.
“Jack, what possessed him to do such a thing?”
Jack looked at her, and for once his eyes were not sympathetic, nor warm with the light of old friendship. “You should know, Elizabeth, after all this time.”
He started to turn away, but she caught at his sleeve. “What do you mean? Surely, after everything that’s happened…”
He looked annoyed! “Are you being deliberately obtuse?” he demanded. “Will stepping in didn’t change things for him. Lord, it would’ve been a sight easier for ‘im if it had!”
Elizabeth let Jack go. “I… don’t deserve…”
“No, you don’t. Who does? But you have it, nonetheless.” His expression softened at her dismay. He picked up her hand and placed a kiss on her fingers. “Take care, love,” he said. “Don’t waste a true heart. Or your life.” He squeezed the hand. “You’re just a chit of a girl, Lizzie. You need someone to keep you in line, eh?”
*
Elizabeth could not sleep. Jack’s words still reverberated in her ears: Don’t waste a true heart.
“Oh, James!” she whispered to the uncaring darkness.
A year after Will’s death, when the pain of it had subsided to a dull, but manageable ache, her father had told her that Norrington still wanted her, would take her to wife if she could bring herself to start anew. Her first reaction to this suggestion was denial. She could not marry again and moreover, her father must be mistaken! James had never indicated by word or action that he was anything but her good friend.
But how like James to mask what he felt with polite behavior. Was that not ever his way? Though it seemed, from what Jack had told her, that the mask had slipped in the confrontation with Stryker .
What did James feel? Perhaps guilt over such a loss of control. Would he come to hate her for it, if she was indeed the cause? Oh, good God, that could not be true! It indicated a passion of which she had always thought him incapable.
But Jack knew him in ways that she did not.
Don’t waste a true heart.
She had to know. There was no use in lying here, staring into the darkness. When had she become the sort of person who hesitated to take action?
Cursing herself, and James, Jack, her father, even Will, she threw off the covers and went to the wardrobe. There was a set of Will’s clothing she had used when she had practiced fencing with him - how long ago that seemed now! She donned them, swiftly, twisted her hair up, pinned it, and covered it with a hat. Then she went to the French doors to her balcony and threw them open.
The moon rode silver in a night sky studded with clouds and stars. The air was just a little cool, and fresh off the sea. In spite of her turmoil, and the habit of grief, she could not help breathing deep and smiling at the frisson of life that coursed through her blood. How long had it been since she’d done something like this? Years! But at five-and-twenty she was too young to have set aside impetuosity entirely.
And she was no longer the staid wife of a respectable tradesman.
I loved you, Will, and that will never change. But you’re gone. And James is here. And I have to know.
*
He had been drinking.
Elizabeth had been fully prepared to drag him from his bed, should it be necessary. Lord, a madness had surely seized her to have determined such a course! But there was light in one of the lower windows of his house, and when she had cautiously looked within she could see him sitting there, legs stretched out toward a small fire. She had never seen him look so disheveled, clad only in breeches and loosened shirt, his short, dark hair ruffled, a glass of brandy in one nearly slack hand. The sight of him thus made her heart ache - and hope.
She had thought to climb in a window, but there was no need: the kitchen door was unlocked. How remiss of you, James. Why anyone could enter uninvited. She fought down a smile as she made her way swiftly and silently through the house, to the library, entered, and shut the door behind her.
“Yes, Mrs. Pritchard, I shall be retiring presently.”
The drawling, irritated voice startled her for a split second, until she realized he thought she was the housekeeper!
She went to him, stepping into his field of vision, and asked, “Do you think Mrs. Pritchard is yet awake?”
His eyes widened with shock and she was forced to renew her struggle with that smile.
“Elizabeth! What… what the devil are you doing here?”
As he set his glass on the table next to him and struggled to sit up, she studied the handsome, troubled face, searching for her answers. He started to rise, but she put a hand out. “No, stay James. I wish to talk with you.”
“Elizabeth… don’t be ridiculous! You cannot stay here - you shouldn’t be here at all!”
“Should I not?” she demanded, feeling reckless. “But where should I be, when I have so many questions? Jack told me you killed Stryker.”
James hesitated, but wisely saw that she would not be dissuaded. His gaze shifted away from the intensity of hers, and a faint look of disgust passed over his face. “I did.”
“Jack said it was not… a clean death.”
James’s mouth twisted. “Clean enough, considering. But no, I made no attempt to… to bring him back for trial.”
“Do you regret it?”
James gathered himself and looked at her again, and there was a fire in his eyes. “Not in the least.”
Greatly daring, she said softly, “Did you do it for me?”
“Yes. And for Will. For that which was destroyed by his murder.”
She nodded, bowing her head. Then she looked up at him, again. “I thank you.”
He studied her for a moment, then asked, “Elizabeth, what are you doing here? Could these questions not have waited ‘til morning?”
She took a deep breath, then said, decisively, “No, they could not. And I have others, make no mistake! Why is it, James, that my father has spoken to me, and Jack has berated me, and yet you have said nothing! Are they completely wide of the mark?”
From his look of chagrin she saw that he knew exactly what she meant. “No. But… well, if you must have the truth, I feared to press you. I wanted to give you time.”
That smile, from deep within, made itself manifest, tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Ever and always the gentleman,” she said. “The man of honor.”
“Yes,” he said, bitterly. “Though Stryker would not have said so.”
She lifted her brows, and came to him, suddenly very sure of herself, straddling his lap in one smooth movement and grinning at his shocked expression, even as she felt his hands at her waist. “I say it,” she told him, and took his dear face between her hands and kissed him on the lips. Was it his that trembled, or her own? She didn’t know. She knew only that he gave a start, as of a sleeper wakened, and that he drew her close, tentatively at first, and then with a surge and shiver of delight as she savored for the first time the heady combination of brandy and James Norrington.
*
A long while later they lay half-dressed, on the thick Turkey carpet before the hearth.
“The fire’s gone out,” she observed, eyes half-lidded.
“Not noticeably,” he retorted, his hands drifting down to caress her hips, pulling her close. “We’ll have to marry immediately, you know.”
She raised a brow. “And why is that?” she pouted, imperiously.
He pinched her, and she gave a laughing yelp, and squirmed closer, rejoicing as his arms tightened about her. She kissed him again.
When they paused, he said, “Because I saw Mrs. Pritchard look in at a somewhat crucial moment.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“I know you did not. Being somewhat preoccupied at the time.”
He looked so completely self-satisfied that she grinned, even as she blushed.
“And,” he continued, “because I love you. And I must have you beside me, in my bed, and in my home without delay.”
“And in your heart?” she asked, like a child who begs for a surfeit of sweets.
“And in my heart, as you have always been. Though never more so than at this moment.”
She smiled, tremulously, and brushed the dark hair from his forehead. “A true heart, indeed, James,” she said softly. “May I prove myself worthy of such devotion.”
~.~
~ True Heart ~
Fifteen months after her husband’s death at the hands of the blackguard pirate captain Gray Stryker and his crew of cutthroats, Elizabeth Turner stood beside her father to receive James Norrington and Jack Sparrow, who were returned from the expedition to capture or kill the murderer.
Jack gave her a brief nod that affirmed the success of the venture, but it was James who made the announcement, and in his soberest voice.
“Governor, Mrs. Turner: our quest has been successful. Gray Stryker is dead, and many of his crew as well. The rest are taken prisoner and are being transferred from the Dauntless to Fort Charles as we speak. There they will be tried and, no doubt, hanged.”
The Governor said, “James! This is excellent news! Excellent. Don’t you agree, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth nodded, feeling oddly numb, which was not at all what she had expected. “I… I’m glad it’s done,” she managed, finally. And it was an end, of sorts, she knew, even if she could not yet feel it.
Her father said to the men, “You must come in. We’ll drink a toast to your success - and to William, God rest him.”
But James said, “Perhaps later, sir. I wished to give you the news immediately, but must now return to the Dauntless. Please forgive me.”
“There’s certainly nothing to forgive, James,” said Swann, rather gently. “We shall see you later, then. Captain Sparrow? Will you join us?”
“I believe I shall,” said Jack. “Later, eh, Jamie?”
Norrington’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “I daresay.”
The Commodore bowed, formally, then took his leave, remounting his horse and urging it to a trot, then to a canter as he swept through the gates and headed down the hill.
*
“James killed him!” said the Governor, refilling Jack’s glass with the smoothest of aged rums.
Jack took another satisfied sip. “Ah! Jamaican Ambrosia!” He focused on the Governor again, though he shot a glance at Elizabeth. She sat a little straighter. “Aye, law-abiding Jamie. Didn’t think he had that kind of red work in him, but there you go: never know what a man’s really like ‘til the die’s cast. Could’ve knocked me over with a feather. I was sure we’d be listenin’ to that bas-er, that Stryker spoutin’ off all the way back to Port Royal - you know he had a mouth on ‘im? But no, James took good care o’ that.”
Elizabeth listened with half an ear while Jack rambled on. James killing a man in cold blood. It was wholly unlike him.
But when Jack was preparing to take his leave and her father had stepped from the room to call for the horse to be brought round, Elizabeth confronted the pirate.
“Jack, what possessed him to do such a thing?”
Jack looked at her, and for once his eyes were not sympathetic, nor warm with the light of old friendship. “You should know, Elizabeth, after all this time.”
He started to turn away, but she caught at his sleeve. “What do you mean? Surely, after everything that’s happened…”
He looked annoyed! “Are you being deliberately obtuse?” he demanded. “Will stepping in didn’t change things for him. Lord, it would’ve been a sight easier for ‘im if it had!”
Elizabeth let Jack go. “I… don’t deserve…”
“No, you don’t. Who does? But you have it, nonetheless.” His expression softened at her dismay. He picked up her hand and placed a kiss on her fingers. “Take care, love,” he said. “Don’t waste a true heart. Or your life.” He squeezed the hand. “You’re just a chit of a girl, Lizzie. You need someone to keep you in line, eh?”
*
Elizabeth could not sleep. Jack’s words still reverberated in her ears: Don’t waste a true heart.
“Oh, James!” she whispered to the uncaring darkness.
A year after Will’s death, when the pain of it had subsided to a dull, but manageable ache, her father had told her that Norrington still wanted her, would take her to wife if she could bring herself to start anew. Her first reaction to this suggestion was denial. She could not marry again and moreover, her father must be mistaken! James had never indicated by word or action that he was anything but her good friend.
But how like James to mask what he felt with polite behavior. Was that not ever his way? Though it seemed, from what Jack had told her, that the mask had slipped in the confrontation with Stryker .
What did James feel? Perhaps guilt over such a loss of control. Would he come to hate her for it, if she was indeed the cause? Oh, good God, that could not be true! It indicated a passion of which she had always thought him incapable.
But Jack knew him in ways that she did not.
Don’t waste a true heart.
She had to know. There was no use in lying here, staring into the darkness. When had she become the sort of person who hesitated to take action?
Cursing herself, and James, Jack, her father, even Will, she threw off the covers and went to the wardrobe. There was a set of Will’s clothing she had used when she had practiced fencing with him - how long ago that seemed now! She donned them, swiftly, twisted her hair up, pinned it, and covered it with a hat. Then she went to the French doors to her balcony and threw them open.
The moon rode silver in a night sky studded with clouds and stars. The air was just a little cool, and fresh off the sea. In spite of her turmoil, and the habit of grief, she could not help breathing deep and smiling at the frisson of life that coursed through her blood. How long had it been since she’d done something like this? Years! But at five-and-twenty she was too young to have set aside impetuosity entirely.
And she was no longer the staid wife of a respectable tradesman.
I loved you, Will, and that will never change. But you’re gone. And James is here. And I have to know.
*
He had been drinking.
Elizabeth had been fully prepared to drag him from his bed, should it be necessary. Lord, a madness had surely seized her to have determined such a course! But there was light in one of the lower windows of his house, and when she had cautiously looked within she could see him sitting there, legs stretched out toward a small fire. She had never seen him look so disheveled, clad only in breeches and loosened shirt, his short, dark hair ruffled, a glass of brandy in one nearly slack hand. The sight of him thus made her heart ache - and hope.
She had thought to climb in a window, but there was no need: the kitchen door was unlocked. How remiss of you, James. Why anyone could enter uninvited. She fought down a smile as she made her way swiftly and silently through the house, to the library, entered, and shut the door behind her.
“Yes, Mrs. Pritchard, I shall be retiring presently.”
The drawling, irritated voice startled her for a split second, until she realized he thought she was the housekeeper!
She went to him, stepping into his field of vision, and asked, “Do you think Mrs. Pritchard is yet awake?”
His eyes widened with shock and she was forced to renew her struggle with that smile.
“Elizabeth! What… what the devil are you doing here?”
As he set his glass on the table next to him and struggled to sit up, she studied the handsome, troubled face, searching for her answers. He started to rise, but she put a hand out. “No, stay James. I wish to talk with you.”
“Elizabeth… don’t be ridiculous! You cannot stay here - you shouldn’t be here at all!”
“Should I not?” she demanded, feeling reckless. “But where should I be, when I have so many questions? Jack told me you killed Stryker.”
James hesitated, but wisely saw that she would not be dissuaded. His gaze shifted away from the intensity of hers, and a faint look of disgust passed over his face. “I did.”
“Jack said it was not… a clean death.”
James’s mouth twisted. “Clean enough, considering. But no, I made no attempt to… to bring him back for trial.”
“Do you regret it?”
James gathered himself and looked at her again, and there was a fire in his eyes. “Not in the least.”
Greatly daring, she said softly, “Did you do it for me?”
“Yes. And for Will. For that which was destroyed by his murder.”
She nodded, bowing her head. Then she looked up at him, again. “I thank you.”
He studied her for a moment, then asked, “Elizabeth, what are you doing here? Could these questions not have waited ‘til morning?”
She took a deep breath, then said, decisively, “No, they could not. And I have others, make no mistake! Why is it, James, that my father has spoken to me, and Jack has berated me, and yet you have said nothing! Are they completely wide of the mark?”
From his look of chagrin she saw that he knew exactly what she meant. “No. But… well, if you must have the truth, I feared to press you. I wanted to give you time.”
That smile, from deep within, made itself manifest, tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Ever and always the gentleman,” she said. “The man of honor.”
“Yes,” he said, bitterly. “Though Stryker would not have said so.”
She lifted her brows, and came to him, suddenly very sure of herself, straddling his lap in one smooth movement and grinning at his shocked expression, even as she felt his hands at her waist. “I say it,” she told him, and took his dear face between her hands and kissed him on the lips. Was it his that trembled, or her own? She didn’t know. She knew only that he gave a start, as of a sleeper wakened, and that he drew her close, tentatively at first, and then with a surge and shiver of delight as she savored for the first time the heady combination of brandy and James Norrington.
*
A long while later they lay half-dressed, on the thick Turkey carpet before the hearth.
“The fire’s gone out,” she observed, eyes half-lidded.
“Not noticeably,” he retorted, his hands drifting down to caress her hips, pulling her close. “We’ll have to marry immediately, you know.”
She raised a brow. “And why is that?” she pouted, imperiously.
He pinched her, and she gave a laughing yelp, and squirmed closer, rejoicing as his arms tightened about her. She kissed him again.
When they paused, he said, “Because I saw Mrs. Pritchard look in at a somewhat crucial moment.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“I know you did not. Being somewhat preoccupied at the time.”
He looked so completely self-satisfied that she grinned, even as she blushed.
“And,” he continued, “because I love you. And I must have you beside me, in my bed, and in my home without delay.”
“And in your heart?” she asked, like a child who begs for a surfeit of sweets.
“And in my heart, as you have always been. Though never more so than at this moment.”
She smiled, tremulously, and brushed the dark hair from his forehead. “A true heart, indeed, James,” she said softly. “May I prove myself worthy of such devotion.”
~.~