Fic: Circling Fate: Part Two
Title: Circling Fate (Part Two)
Author: artic_fox
Rating: PG
Pairings: James Norrington/Elizabeth Swann (Norribeth)
Summary: Elizabeth will be the death of him, but he thinks perhaps he is already condemned. Four part fic, going from pre-CotBP through to AWE, through the eyes of James Norrington.
Beta: A huge thank you to commodore_lydia.
Author's Notes: Although it does follow canon, I have taken a few liberties, so forgive me for those. This part is post-CotBP. My other Norribeth fics found in the norribeth archive here. Feedback appreciated. Concrit welcomed.
Part One found here.
Part Two
Elizabeth will be the death of him, but first he must learn to live.
The promotion ceremony is a blur of red coats and glinting steel; the Caribbean sun is hotter than hell, and James thinks such a place might be a welcome alternative.
There are congratulations and handshakes; he is proud, but tired and weary, knowing still that the hardest part is yet to come. She is resplendent in the finest silk and acts as elegant as any of the other ladies, even though underneath he knows she is wild as a tempest. His tongue is dry, and sticks to the roof of his mouth when he asks her for a moment in private.
James escorts her to the ramparts where the ocean stretches out forever, and the water’s surface glistens like thousands of polished diamonds. His nerves are strained - stretched so tight he fears they might break. He wants to delay a little longer, even just a day, but he promised himself and there has never been a promise James Norrington has not kept. She is golden, and breathless, and so is he, so they match to perfection.
His heart is in his mouth when he proposes to her, not elegant and collected as he’d practised. His words are stammered, voice trembling, but his heart is open and that is what matters.
Then she falls, and his world falls with her.
---
He does not receive an answer from her that day, and by the time they have caught up with Jack Sparrow (James refuses to refer to him as a Captain) and incarcerated him, the sun is deep in the sky. He knows it will seem overly persistent of him to call upon her in the morning, even though he desperately wants to. James knows Elizabeth well enough to not back her into a corner, or hurry her. She is a bird, like her name suggests, and she should not be crushed by eager hands.
Many young ladies would have taken to their beds for days after such an encounter as Elizabeth had been subjected to that morning, but James knows her better than that. The look in her wide eyes that he saw was not fear, but fascination, and he knows she will dream of darker features tonight.
James sits at his office desk, weary, but knows he will be unable to sleep. Instead, he stares out the window, counting the hours until he can go on watch. The air is heavy and humid; ominous even. There is an unnatural breeze moving off the sea, and for the first time in all his years in the Caribbean, James suppresses a shiver.
He wonders in these moments, what could have happened if he had jumped after her; thrown himself at the mercy of the rocks and the water. Overly tight stays may have caused her descent, but the truth is, James fell a long time ago.
---
Just as she had fallen, James’ world falls apart.
Port Royal is attacked by pirates, and Elizabeth is taken. If this wasn’t enough for him, William Turner frees Jack Sparrow and together they commandeer the Interceptor, the pride of the British navy.
All this - under his watch.
James is well aware that Turner’s purpose is to rescue Elizabeth, and while he admires the boy’s determination, he pities his foolishness. The blacksmith has well proven his rashness and his devotion to Miss Swann, and although this development worries James, it is not the time to dwell on it.
Perhaps he should care more about the loss of the ship, or the fact that these events are a devastating blow to his new reputation as Commodore. But in truth it is her he worries about, and prays for, and thinks of. He cannot sleep, and will not sleep until it is all done with and she is out of harm's way.
He will not rest again until she is safe.
---
They find her and Sparrow on a small strip of land; a large (rum-fuelled) smoke cloud having drawn James’ attention on the horizon.
He almost cannot look when he sees she is attired only in the barest of garments, hair flowing and face rosy from the hours in the sun. His hands shake as he offers her assistance from the longboat, and it is reassurance enough to know she is real and there, and not just some figment of his imagination. He wants to embrace her, kiss her, show her the full extent of his worry and relief that she is safe and unharmed. But he can’t, and he won’t, but the need is inside him nevertheless.
And then she utters those words; those words that stop his heart, even though he tries not to show it. She offers him everything he has ever desired, and yet somehow it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. It is a trade off really; her hand in marriage for the navy to go after Turner, but she is laying herself at his feet, and James, despite the façade he builds, is only a man, after all.
He is not fool enough to think that she accepts his proposal without conditions, even though she states that his answer would not change hers. He has determinedly ignored her attentions to the blacksmith as petty infatuation; mere intrigue, and hopes that perhaps that what she feels is guilt for his fate. But deep inside, he knows it is not.
She knows that James can refuse her nothing, and she is right.
Elizabeth is sweet, and smiles prettily, and his heart swells with pride to think that she will truly be his wife. He wants to kiss her, properly, right there on the deck, but remembers his position, and what is expected of him. He is a gentleman; a man of honour, and it will not do to behave any less than one. She deserves only the best, and he will spend the rest of their lives living up to her.
---
It was inevitable in hindsight.
He lets her go, and it almost kills him, but he cannot bind her to him even in desperation. She loves Turner; has made it abundantly clear, and if that is what she wants, he cannot deny her. He does not know when his happiness became subordinate to her own, but it was probably always that way and he never knew. James wonders how doing the right thing can hurt so much.
Perhaps he is doomed to blindness, but James was always blind where Elizabeth was concerned. She knows she is breaking his heart and he can see the sincere regret in her eyes, even as she speaks those fateful words. He wants to stop his heart beating; stop it breaking, but he is stoic and proper and does not want the world to see what he is feeling on the inside. He wishes them the best of luck, for what else can he do? He is a gentleman, and will prove it even if it kills him.
There is nothing else for him now. Elizabeth will stand beside Turner for the rest of her days, and James will stand alone.
---
There is little more for him to do but chase after Sparrow, for James cannot bear to be around to watch Elizabeth marry another man. There are things a man can do, and things a man can’t do, and James knows his limits better than most.
The thought makes him sick to his stomach; a rolling unease that he cannot subdue; cannot imagine it ever resting. For the remainder of his days he must hold onto the thought of what might have been, what could have been if their fates had joined, instead of circling each other in a furious, frustrating dance. The steps are sideways, and not together, and he knows that is the way it will always be.
His attention must be focused elsewhere, and where better than the capture of a man who has plagued the seas? His heart is not in it but he suspects his heart is no longer capable of what it used to be. It was once full of hope, of power, of love, and now it is empty, drained, exhausted. James goes through the motions of living life, but is as dead as any pirate, cursed with Aztec gold.
Sparrow is not an easy bird to follow, but Commodore James Norrington will not rest. He must follow the law, for that is who he is and all he knows. It is the stable foundations of his life, even when the rest has crumbled to the ground. Sparrow has become the scapegoat for all his frustrations, and James blames the pirate even if he cannot hate him.
Sometimes (no, all the time), James wishes he could be the man he portrays himself to be: cold, and unfeeling, determined, and brave. It would be easier if he were to feel nothing, than to feel the heartache and sickness he experiences now. So he pretends: pretends that he is bold and impassive - emotionless. But he is none of those things. If still waters run deep, James is an ocean.
---
He does not predict the hurricane, so when he sees it, it is far too late. One can outrun a ship’s cannons, but the weather is another thing, and the Dauntless is shattered.
James feels himself sinking, his body heavy; falling and falling. His coat weighs him down in arms and legs, mind and soul. He does not care, cannot even start to care. For even now, what does he have to live for but duty and honour? And even they will not keep him warm at night. They do not possess soft lips, and golden hair, and so do they really matter anymore?
After all, the captain’s duty is with his men. So James will go down with the Dauntless, with his comrades who have fallen around him. It is he who has brought them to this fate; he who has taken them to the ends of the earth, and so he will go under with them. But even as he sinks, James feels the guilt of his actions building in the pit of his stomach and is grateful he will not have to abide by the shame much longer.
Even as he falls, he sees her face, and hopes she will be happy.
---
Miraculously he is saved. He does not know by whom, only that there are hands and arms, and they are pulling him in all directions, and his back hits the hard wood of a longboat. There is cool water forced to his mouth, and he splutters.
When he returns, he finds Port Royal is unchanged, but he has changed and it is too late for apologies or excuses, even if he were able to give them. His men are dead; the Dauntless is at the bottom of the sea and it is his fault. James will bear the burden for all the families with lost sons, lost husbands, brothers and nephews: James will suffer with them and for them. He should have died too, and wishes he had.
---
Tortuga is full of rum, and he finds he likes it. Rum is the devil’s drink, but James feels the devil within him, and fuels it with his bitterness. He is used to finer brew - wines, and brandies - the rum burns his stomach and his mouth, and makes him sick with it.
But it does not settle the fear or his dark thoughts that this is what he deserves, and he can anticipate no better. He can only hope that the end will come quickly, and goes about in search for it.
Not many people are willing to duel a man dressed in a once fine naval uniform, with the heavy burden of guilt in his eyes.
---
Tortuga is constant noise, and James does not sleep anymore. There are too many visions on the backs of his eyelids that haunt him, so he keeps his eyes firmly open and resolutely to the ground.
His once fine coat is in tatters, and he laughs at himself when he catches a glimpse of his reflection. The material is like flesh dripping from bones, rot and decay, and he is cursed but he doesn’t care. His own mortality is almost a comfort in a way, for James knows that he will be judged for what he has done, and for those souls he has lost. He will suffer now, and for eternity, but perhaps that is not enough either.
Sometimes, in moments of extreme lucidity he thinks about Miss Swann - or Mrs Turner, as she surely would be by now. It does him no good to think of these things, but there is only rum and melancholy; and they are potent together.
---
James cannot believe his eyes when he sees Sparrow; the man who destroyed his life. The pirate flaunts his luck: wears it on his sleeve, and James hates him for it, for the hurricane, and how Jack saved Elizabeth where he did not.
He cocks his pistol and takes aim, not really sure if he will kill him, although he desperately wants to. There is bitterness and anger, and it curdles in his stomach, but the essence of the man he was is still there and that is why he hesitates.
His arm is seized and he wrestles for control; a shot is fired (his? - he’s not sure). There are bodies everywhere, and he manages to unsheathe his sword amongst the chaos. He feels immortal, although he does not want to be. He fights poorly; nothing like he knows he can, hoping for an errant blade but his luck is not that good. Instead, he finishes his drink, savouring its heady flavour, letting it smother the pain a little more.
He is asking for it, and they all can see that he has a death wish, but no one wants to grant it. James tries to goad them to fight, brandishing his sword and his rum, but the next thing is a shatter of glass and his head hurts.
When he comes to, it is face down in muck. How appropriate, he thinks wryly, and nearly laughs. A former high and mighty Commodore down in the mud. It is almost ironic, but not quite.
Soft hands are on his aching shoulders, and he looks up, turning his head cautiously.
She is there, and he wonders if perhaps he is dead after all. Her name is a whisper on his breath.
“James Norrington, what has the world done to you?”
“Nothing I didn’t deserve.”
---
Feedback is wonderful, and inspires me to write more. Love to know what you liked/didn't like/best lines, etc. Last two parts are longer. Thank you for reading.
Author: artic_fox
Rating: PG
Pairings: James Norrington/Elizabeth Swann (Norribeth)
Summary: Elizabeth will be the death of him, but he thinks perhaps he is already condemned. Four part fic, going from pre-CotBP through to AWE, through the eyes of James Norrington.
Beta: A huge thank you to commodore_lydia.
Author's Notes: Although it does follow canon, I have taken a few liberties, so forgive me for those. This part is post-CotBP. My other Norribeth fics found in the norribeth archive here. Feedback appreciated. Concrit welcomed.
Part One found here.
Part Two
Elizabeth will be the death of him, but first he must learn to live.
The promotion ceremony is a blur of red coats and glinting steel; the Caribbean sun is hotter than hell, and James thinks such a place might be a welcome alternative.
There are congratulations and handshakes; he is proud, but tired and weary, knowing still that the hardest part is yet to come. She is resplendent in the finest silk and acts as elegant as any of the other ladies, even though underneath he knows she is wild as a tempest. His tongue is dry, and sticks to the roof of his mouth when he asks her for a moment in private.
James escorts her to the ramparts where the ocean stretches out forever, and the water’s surface glistens like thousands of polished diamonds. His nerves are strained - stretched so tight he fears they might break. He wants to delay a little longer, even just a day, but he promised himself and there has never been a promise James Norrington has not kept. She is golden, and breathless, and so is he, so they match to perfection.
His heart is in his mouth when he proposes to her, not elegant and collected as he’d practised. His words are stammered, voice trembling, but his heart is open and that is what matters.
Then she falls, and his world falls with her.
---
He does not receive an answer from her that day, and by the time they have caught up with Jack Sparrow (James refuses to refer to him as a Captain) and incarcerated him, the sun is deep in the sky. He knows it will seem overly persistent of him to call upon her in the morning, even though he desperately wants to. James knows Elizabeth well enough to not back her into a corner, or hurry her. She is a bird, like her name suggests, and she should not be crushed by eager hands.
Many young ladies would have taken to their beds for days after such an encounter as Elizabeth had been subjected to that morning, but James knows her better than that. The look in her wide eyes that he saw was not fear, but fascination, and he knows she will dream of darker features tonight.
James sits at his office desk, weary, but knows he will be unable to sleep. Instead, he stares out the window, counting the hours until he can go on watch. The air is heavy and humid; ominous even. There is an unnatural breeze moving off the sea, and for the first time in all his years in the Caribbean, James suppresses a shiver.
He wonders in these moments, what could have happened if he had jumped after her; thrown himself at the mercy of the rocks and the water. Overly tight stays may have caused her descent, but the truth is, James fell a long time ago.
---
Just as she had fallen, James’ world falls apart.
Port Royal is attacked by pirates, and Elizabeth is taken. If this wasn’t enough for him, William Turner frees Jack Sparrow and together they commandeer the Interceptor, the pride of the British navy.
All this - under his watch.
James is well aware that Turner’s purpose is to rescue Elizabeth, and while he admires the boy’s determination, he pities his foolishness. The blacksmith has well proven his rashness and his devotion to Miss Swann, and although this development worries James, it is not the time to dwell on it.
Perhaps he should care more about the loss of the ship, or the fact that these events are a devastating blow to his new reputation as Commodore. But in truth it is her he worries about, and prays for, and thinks of. He cannot sleep, and will not sleep until it is all done with and she is out of harm's way.
He will not rest again until she is safe.
---
They find her and Sparrow on a small strip of land; a large (rum-fuelled) smoke cloud having drawn James’ attention on the horizon.
He almost cannot look when he sees she is attired only in the barest of garments, hair flowing and face rosy from the hours in the sun. His hands shake as he offers her assistance from the longboat, and it is reassurance enough to know she is real and there, and not just some figment of his imagination. He wants to embrace her, kiss her, show her the full extent of his worry and relief that she is safe and unharmed. But he can’t, and he won’t, but the need is inside him nevertheless.
And then she utters those words; those words that stop his heart, even though he tries not to show it. She offers him everything he has ever desired, and yet somehow it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. It is a trade off really; her hand in marriage for the navy to go after Turner, but she is laying herself at his feet, and James, despite the façade he builds, is only a man, after all.
He is not fool enough to think that she accepts his proposal without conditions, even though she states that his answer would not change hers. He has determinedly ignored her attentions to the blacksmith as petty infatuation; mere intrigue, and hopes that perhaps that what she feels is guilt for his fate. But deep inside, he knows it is not.
She knows that James can refuse her nothing, and she is right.
Elizabeth is sweet, and smiles prettily, and his heart swells with pride to think that she will truly be his wife. He wants to kiss her, properly, right there on the deck, but remembers his position, and what is expected of him. He is a gentleman; a man of honour, and it will not do to behave any less than one. She deserves only the best, and he will spend the rest of their lives living up to her.
---
It was inevitable in hindsight.
He lets her go, and it almost kills him, but he cannot bind her to him even in desperation. She loves Turner; has made it abundantly clear, and if that is what she wants, he cannot deny her. He does not know when his happiness became subordinate to her own, but it was probably always that way and he never knew. James wonders how doing the right thing can hurt so much.
Perhaps he is doomed to blindness, but James was always blind where Elizabeth was concerned. She knows she is breaking his heart and he can see the sincere regret in her eyes, even as she speaks those fateful words. He wants to stop his heart beating; stop it breaking, but he is stoic and proper and does not want the world to see what he is feeling on the inside. He wishes them the best of luck, for what else can he do? He is a gentleman, and will prove it even if it kills him.
There is nothing else for him now. Elizabeth will stand beside Turner for the rest of her days, and James will stand alone.
---
There is little more for him to do but chase after Sparrow, for James cannot bear to be around to watch Elizabeth marry another man. There are things a man can do, and things a man can’t do, and James knows his limits better than most.
The thought makes him sick to his stomach; a rolling unease that he cannot subdue; cannot imagine it ever resting. For the remainder of his days he must hold onto the thought of what might have been, what could have been if their fates had joined, instead of circling each other in a furious, frustrating dance. The steps are sideways, and not together, and he knows that is the way it will always be.
His attention must be focused elsewhere, and where better than the capture of a man who has plagued the seas? His heart is not in it but he suspects his heart is no longer capable of what it used to be. It was once full of hope, of power, of love, and now it is empty, drained, exhausted. James goes through the motions of living life, but is as dead as any pirate, cursed with Aztec gold.
Sparrow is not an easy bird to follow, but Commodore James Norrington will not rest. He must follow the law, for that is who he is and all he knows. It is the stable foundations of his life, even when the rest has crumbled to the ground. Sparrow has become the scapegoat for all his frustrations, and James blames the pirate even if he cannot hate him.
Sometimes (no, all the time), James wishes he could be the man he portrays himself to be: cold, and unfeeling, determined, and brave. It would be easier if he were to feel nothing, than to feel the heartache and sickness he experiences now. So he pretends: pretends that he is bold and impassive - emotionless. But he is none of those things. If still waters run deep, James is an ocean.
---
He does not predict the hurricane, so when he sees it, it is far too late. One can outrun a ship’s cannons, but the weather is another thing, and the Dauntless is shattered.
James feels himself sinking, his body heavy; falling and falling. His coat weighs him down in arms and legs, mind and soul. He does not care, cannot even start to care. For even now, what does he have to live for but duty and honour? And even they will not keep him warm at night. They do not possess soft lips, and golden hair, and so do they really matter anymore?
After all, the captain’s duty is with his men. So James will go down with the Dauntless, with his comrades who have fallen around him. It is he who has brought them to this fate; he who has taken them to the ends of the earth, and so he will go under with them. But even as he sinks, James feels the guilt of his actions building in the pit of his stomach and is grateful he will not have to abide by the shame much longer.
Even as he falls, he sees her face, and hopes she will be happy.
---
Miraculously he is saved. He does not know by whom, only that there are hands and arms, and they are pulling him in all directions, and his back hits the hard wood of a longboat. There is cool water forced to his mouth, and he splutters.
When he returns, he finds Port Royal is unchanged, but he has changed and it is too late for apologies or excuses, even if he were able to give them. His men are dead; the Dauntless is at the bottom of the sea and it is his fault. James will bear the burden for all the families with lost sons, lost husbands, brothers and nephews: James will suffer with them and for them. He should have died too, and wishes he had.
---
Tortuga is full of rum, and he finds he likes it. Rum is the devil’s drink, but James feels the devil within him, and fuels it with his bitterness. He is used to finer brew - wines, and brandies - the rum burns his stomach and his mouth, and makes him sick with it.
But it does not settle the fear or his dark thoughts that this is what he deserves, and he can anticipate no better. He can only hope that the end will come quickly, and goes about in search for it.
Not many people are willing to duel a man dressed in a once fine naval uniform, with the heavy burden of guilt in his eyes.
---
Tortuga is constant noise, and James does not sleep anymore. There are too many visions on the backs of his eyelids that haunt him, so he keeps his eyes firmly open and resolutely to the ground.
His once fine coat is in tatters, and he laughs at himself when he catches a glimpse of his reflection. The material is like flesh dripping from bones, rot and decay, and he is cursed but he doesn’t care. His own mortality is almost a comfort in a way, for James knows that he will be judged for what he has done, and for those souls he has lost. He will suffer now, and for eternity, but perhaps that is not enough either.
Sometimes, in moments of extreme lucidity he thinks about Miss Swann - or Mrs Turner, as she surely would be by now. It does him no good to think of these things, but there is only rum and melancholy; and they are potent together.
---
James cannot believe his eyes when he sees Sparrow; the man who destroyed his life. The pirate flaunts his luck: wears it on his sleeve, and James hates him for it, for the hurricane, and how Jack saved Elizabeth where he did not.
He cocks his pistol and takes aim, not really sure if he will kill him, although he desperately wants to. There is bitterness and anger, and it curdles in his stomach, but the essence of the man he was is still there and that is why he hesitates.
His arm is seized and he wrestles for control; a shot is fired (his? - he’s not sure). There are bodies everywhere, and he manages to unsheathe his sword amongst the chaos. He feels immortal, although he does not want to be. He fights poorly; nothing like he knows he can, hoping for an errant blade but his luck is not that good. Instead, he finishes his drink, savouring its heady flavour, letting it smother the pain a little more.
He is asking for it, and they all can see that he has a death wish, but no one wants to grant it. James tries to goad them to fight, brandishing his sword and his rum, but the next thing is a shatter of glass and his head hurts.
When he comes to, it is face down in muck. How appropriate, he thinks wryly, and nearly laughs. A former high and mighty Commodore down in the mud. It is almost ironic, but not quite.
Soft hands are on his aching shoulders, and he looks up, turning his head cautiously.
She is there, and he wonders if perhaps he is dead after all. Her name is a whisper on his breath.
“James Norrington, what has the world done to you?”
“Nothing I didn’t deserve.”
---
Feedback is wonderful, and inspires me to write more. Love to know what you liked/didn't like/best lines, etc. Last two parts are longer. Thank you for reading.