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honoratBy Honorat Selonnet
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don’t get me wrong, love. I admire all the money Disney makes on this movie. But I don’t get any of it.
Summary: One person’s triumph is often another’s tragedy. There’s always another side to the story. The deleted scene of the Proposal mostly from Norrington’s POV but some from Governor Swann and a little from Elizabeth. Angst alert. But some fun young Elizabeth. More movie novelization including deleted scenes and filler—the second trip to Isla de Muerta.
Thanks and one small Caribbean Island in a nearby universe go to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
geek_mama_2 for beta work on this. Any errors and inconsistencies remain mine.
* * * * *
Weatherby Swann glanced from Elizabeth’s pale face to the commodore’s stern one. It was his dearest desire to see his daughter safely under the protection of a good man like his friend James Norrington. Safe, please God. She was his only child. The light of his life. All that remained to him of the beauty and vibrancy that had been his wife. When those savage pirates had kidnapped her, he’d never known such terror, such anger. He hadn’t known his heart could endure such pain and still keep beating. To spare her a moment of the anguish she must have gone through, he would have suffered any torture himself. When he had insisted on coming with the Dauntless, he had desired nothing more than to avenge every indignity she might have suffered. If they had harmed a hair on her head, he had sworn he would see every last one of them in hell—either sunk to the bottom of the sea or strung up on the gallows. He’d had no hope that such depraved criminals would not harm her.
But now she was miraculously restored to him, and while his rage burned against the men who had battered her, wounded her, and left her to die, his overwhelming instinct was to get her to safety as swiftly as possible. Pursuit of pirates could wait.
But somewhere in the trauma of her week of captivity, Elizabeth had grown into an awareness of her own power. She had manipulated James like an expert swordsman drives an opponent into a corner. All to save a blacksmith’s apprentice she had befriended as a child. And now, instead of flying home to Port Royal and safety, she was about to undertake another perilous adventure. If the Commodore did as she had requested, they would soon be back under the guns of that ghostly galleon that had sprung up out of black night with cannons blazing. And his precious little girl would be in the midst of fire and fighting and flying shrapnel. He must stop this, if at all possible.
Hurrying up to Norrington, he objected, “Commodore, I must question the wisdom of this.”
But he was already too late.
* * * * *
Commodore Norrington felt himself being pulled in too many different directions. Painstakingly he had sorted through the threads that entangled him, seeking the course wherein lay his duty. He had not been completely comfortable with the governor’s decision to abandon the boy Turner. While the lad’s actions had been rash, he had, it seemed, managed to pry Elizabeth out of the hands of the crew of the Black Pearl. Of course she had then fallen into the hands of that pirate Sparrow who had been on the loose thanks to Will, but that had turned out far better than he’d been given reason to expect. While the boy deserved punishment, the kind of death he would find at the hands of pirates was far beyond his due. And Norrington was not a man who sought petty vengeance against a rival.
Nor had he been sure that his duty to maintain law and order in the Caribbean did not demand that he pursue the Black Pearl while he had the chance and the benefit of Sparrow’s expert knowledge of the ship and its crew—although Sparrow’s clear desire to chase after that ship had been the strongest argument against that course of action. But the Black Pearl would indeed still be there for the chasing, more’s the pity, at a later date.
No. What had decided him to bend to the governor’s will had been the knowledge that that course of action would remove Elizabeth to safety. Certainly that was the governor’s motive, and it was one of which Norrington approved.
But he had not expected the outcome of that decision. Instead of accepting the judgment of those who had her best interests at heart, his fiery beloved had turned and faced them down. Had rejected protection and safety and had demanded that Will Turner be rescued. James Norrington had the grace to be ashamed, both of his tacit willingness to leave Will to his fate, and for his underestimation of Elizabeth’s courage and loyalty.
Now his old friend was questioning his change of orders. He knew it must appear that he was going against his better judgment for the sake of a green girl’s emotional outburst, but James Norrington had never led with his heart. Oh, he was glad he could indulge Elizabeth’s evident desire within the bounds of his duty. But he would never have sacrificed that duty to her pleading eyes. He was sorry for the governor. He knew the anguish the man had suffered over the last week—knew how much he must be dreading further heart-break. But he must pursue the course he knew was correct.
Firmly he informed the older man, “With all due respect, Governor, Mr. Turner is a subject of the British Crown and therefore under my protection.” He had to force himself to meet his friend’s stricken eyes. Pressing his lips together, he braced himself for Governor Swann’s outburst.
It did not come. He should have known that a good man such as Weatherby Swann would support right action once it was pointed out to him.
* * * * *
The Governor glanced once towards his daughter, then looked back at Commodore Norrington with a half smile. They were two of a kind, his daughter and the good commodore. No personal sacrifice would turn either of them from a course they had deemed right. Elizabeth was willing to risk her life to save the boy who had saved her life. The commodore was willing to do the same.
Governor Swann knew he was not a brave man. Oh, he could stand on the battlements during a cannonade if he felt it was his duty. But he would not choose a course of danger when another option existed. It had been a mistake for him to try to force Elizabeth into his own mould. She was her mother’s daughter in more than her sparkling brown eyes. He nodded to himself and looked up at the commodore with a fuller smile. If the man felt it was his duty to rescue Will Turner, there was nothing to be done about it. A hundred guns had no chance of turning James aside from doing what he believed was right.
And so he gave his approval to the commodore’s decision to provide Crown protection to the blacksmith’s apprentice. “Rightly so,” he agreed.
But his heart failed him as he thought of what might lie ahead.
* * * * *
The slightest sympathetic smile touched the corners of James Norrington’s mouth as he saw the governor fight and win that battle. There were many kinds of heroism, not the least of which was the bravery of a man who was naturally timid. He saw Governor Swann glance over at his daughter standing by the ship’s rail, looking pale and tired. She had been through such an ordeal already. His heart longed to remove her from all this danger and bloodshed, but she had made that impossible.
When Weatherby Swann looked back at James Norrington, the governor seemed older somehow. His eyes held a look of bewildered loss that touched the commodore.
“Take care of her,” the governor requested in a voice that trembled a little.
Norrington smiled more fully at his friend, a promise in his eyes. Of course. You did not need to ask. He looked down, knowing he wanted nothing more than to obey the governor’s wishes. It had been his dream ever since the moment he had realized that the child he had known had become a beautiful woman he did not know.
When he had first met Elizabeth on the crossing of the Atlantic, she had been a sparkling mischievous little—well, “monkey” came to mind, also “minx” and “brat.” Nothing was safe or sacred from her inquisitive, adventuresome ways. Whenever she went missing and her concerned papa would bustle about nervously, she would be found in some new, unthought-of location in the ship—splashing about in the bilges; perching on the fighting top; chasing rats in the ship’s stores; once even conversing with a sailor under discipline in the brig. The galley, the gun decks, the bowsprit (that had given them all a turn); the captain’s cabin (for which she had received a sound scolding); the quarterdeck where only officers were allowed; the forecastle racks (to try out a hammock, and she’d had fleas for the rest of the trip). Once she had made it up the rigging to the top gallant yard before she was missed. Fearless and intrepid and adorable and as ubiquitous as a cockroach. Whatever a man most particularly wanted her not to see or hear, there she would be found wide-eyed and open-eared.
The men had loved her, given her trinkets gleaned from their travels, told her wild and unfortunately off-colour tales of their adventures, taught her rollicking songs, and assisted her in her insatiable thirst for knowledge of ships and the sea. If a gently-born girl could become a cabin boy, Elizabeth nearly had. She’d learnt navigation and had sweet-talked her way into taking the helm on more than one occasion. In fact she’d been a quicker study than the actual cabin boys. Once when they’d thought they might be engaged by an enemy ship, he’d been horrified to find her helping the powder monkey. Fortunately that encounter had come to naught. The Dauntless was a power with which to be reckoned and few ships chose to take the risk.
When young Will Turner had joined them, the mischief had doubled. He’d caught them having a duel—with un-bated blades. Pranks abounded. A rather badly drawn charcoal mermaid had appeared on the main chart in the captain’s cabin. Mice showed up in sea boots. Once, the captain’s dinner had been served to the crew. It had been a journey he’d never forget, and one of which he’d been glad to see the end.
He had been relieved when they’d reached Port Royal and little Elizabeth Swann was still in one piece—brown as a berry, entirely freckled, and with the vocabulary of a navy tar—but missing no limbs.
There, the new governor had assumed control over the gradually recovering capitol of Jamaica. As commander of Fort Charles, James had worked closely with the man to resurrect the city from the aftermath of the great earthquake that had nearly destroyed it, and he had been surprised and delighted to discover that it was no hardship; that somehow, they had become friends.
And so he had often met Elizabeth in long relaxed evenings at the Swann’s home, where she had plied him with questions about his adventures at sea and the battles in which he had fought and the strategies that had prevailed. She’d been as eager and bright as a young ensign, forcing him to recall minute details of wind and sea and the placement of men, occasionally offering suggestions that were ludicrous, but sometimes he was surprised to realize that her strategy might have turned the tide sooner or entirely in some past action.
That had been one of the reasons he had felt she would be such an ideal wife for him. They were already friends, and she would understand his duties and his love of the sea. Now, it seemed his dreams were about to be fulfilled. He should have been happy.
At the sound of Governor Swann’s footsteps heading up the stairs to the quarterdeck, Norrington looked up from his musings. The moment to which he had been looking forward and which he had been dreading had come. He bowed his head for a moment.
How he wished that Elizabeth had not felt so trapped that she had to barter her consent to his proposal for his consent to rescue Will Turner. James felt an unjust rush of anger at Will for coming between Elizabeth and him in what should have belonged to the two of them alone. For making what should have been a joyous occasion, unclouded by any doubt, into this painfully tense moment.
Glancing over at Elizabeth who was staring fixedly at the deck, James Norrington compared this strained silent woman with the laughing eager-eyed girl they had rescued and his heart constricted. Something was very wrong here.
Softly he spoke her name: “Elizabeth.”
She looked up at him, her eyes large and haunted. He held out his arm to her as one might to a frightened little bird. What had happened? What had he unwittingly done to make her so afraid? He had never really feared that Will Turner was a serious rival for Elizabeth’s regard. He had assumed that Will was merely suffering from calf love and would eventually transfer his attentions to a young woman more suited to his station. But now he knew an insidious fear that Elizabeth’s affections had been truly engaged by young William, and her bargain with himself was nothing more than a desperate attempt to save not her childhood friend, but the man she truly loved. He shied away from the thought, but it persisted.
For a moment he thought Elizabeth might refuse to come to him, might indeed just remain there frozen and staring at his arm forever. But finally she moved to his side and he felt the feather light brush of her fingers resting on his sleeve.
* * * * *
Elizabeth had watched as the exchange of property had taken place between her father and . . . her fiancé, she thought the word for the first time. She felt drained, emptied of all volition, more exhausted than after the battle on the Interceptor. She could see that James was holding out his arm towards her, but she couldn’t seem to move towards him.
The finality of her bargain terrified her. What had she done? She met the commodore’s worried eyes. What had she done to him? Whatever it had been, an eternal knell had been sounded. She had given her word. He was holding out his arm to her. Claiming what she had promised to him. As though she were walking on the bottom of the sea, she moved towards him and set her hand as lightly as possible on his sleeve, feeling his muscles tense beneath the fabric. If only it were Will to whom she was promised. But that could never be, now.
Norrington looked into the dark eyes of the woman he loved, searching for some answer to his questions. But Elizabeth’s eyes only raised more questions. He bowed his head, searching for the right words. “I am . . .” he hesitated, looking up, “. . . concerned that your answer was perhaps . . .” He halted, mouth still open, but no inspired eloquence dropped like live coals on his tongue. Lowering his head again, he swallowed hard and took a couple of deep breaths before turning to face her. “. . . less than sincere,” he finished.
Elizabeth gazed seriously up at him, silent for a moment. He knew, then. Or he suspected. She supposed she had been very obvious. But he did not understand. She had not been lying to him. Dropping her eyes, she began. “I would not give my word lightly.” When she glanced up, Commodore Norrington had closed his eyes and turned away from her.
“Yes, I understand.” James kept his voice low and reassuring, trying not to drive Elizabeth into withdrawing further. Opening his eyes, he tilted his head back and gazed at the hard blue sky, pursing his lips. This certainly qualified as the most difficult conversation he had ever held. But if they were ever to have a chance at finding love out of all this mistrust, he needed to speak to her. Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at her. Even grimy and soot-covered, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “But is it so wrong,” his voice held a note of plea, “that I should want it given unconditionally?”
Elizabeth found she could not look at the commodore. No it was not wrong. A man like James deserved everything whole and perfect in love—not this crippled, broken gift she had to give him. She must never let him know. She must not hurt him any more.
“It is not a condition,” she insisted softly, trying to smile. “It is a request.”
She bowed her head looking blindly at her hands on the Dauntless’s railing, then equally blindly she gazed out to the sea. Somewhere out there was freedom. But she had made her choice. There had never been any real hope for freedom for the governor’s daughter. She only had the right to choose her own chains. And she had chosen.
“Your answer would not change mine,” she reassured James. Then she pressed her lips together. The truth was a bitter thing, not at all like the stories. But she and James respected one another. Surely on that, they could build a life somehow bearable for both of them. And she could tell he loved her.
“You are a . . . fine man, James,” she told him. Nothing she had ever done in her life had prepared her for the difficulty of this moment. But she managed to turn and look into his concerned and loving eyes. She managed to lift the corners of her mouth in a smile. She managed not to weep.
James Norrington knew Elizabeth did not love him the way he did her. She trembled beside him, promising him her life, demanding nothing in return, asking only one boon. But she was still the woman he would choose above all others. And she would not break her word.
“Well. Very well.” His voice was sober, not hopeful as it should have been. But surely, with time, he could win her heart. At least now he would have that chance. He looked down at the lovely woman who had agreed to be his bride. She smiled bravely up at him. His own smile grew more genuine for a moment.
“Excellent,” he breathed.
But why did gaining his heart’s desire feel so much like losing everything he held dear?
TBC
4 All I Ask is a Tall Ship
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don’t get me wrong, love. I admire all the money Disney makes on this movie. But I don’t get any of it.
Summary: One person’s triumph is often another’s tragedy. There’s always another side to the story. The deleted scene of the Proposal mostly from Norrington’s POV but some from Governor Swann and a little from Elizabeth. Angst alert. But some fun young Elizabeth. More movie novelization including deleted scenes and filler—the second trip to Isla de Muerta.
Thanks and one small Caribbean Island in a nearby universe go to
geek_mama_2 for beta work on this. Any errors and inconsistencies remain mine.* * * * *
Weatherby Swann glanced from Elizabeth’s pale face to the commodore’s stern one. It was his dearest desire to see his daughter safely under the protection of a good man like his friend James Norrington. Safe, please God. She was his only child. The light of his life. All that remained to him of the beauty and vibrancy that had been his wife. When those savage pirates had kidnapped her, he’d never known such terror, such anger. He hadn’t known his heart could endure such pain and still keep beating. To spare her a moment of the anguish she must have gone through, he would have suffered any torture himself. When he had insisted on coming with the Dauntless, he had desired nothing more than to avenge every indignity she might have suffered. If they had harmed a hair on her head, he had sworn he would see every last one of them in hell—either sunk to the bottom of the sea or strung up on the gallows. He’d had no hope that such depraved criminals would not harm her.
But now she was miraculously restored to him, and while his rage burned against the men who had battered her, wounded her, and left her to die, his overwhelming instinct was to get her to safety as swiftly as possible. Pursuit of pirates could wait.
But somewhere in the trauma of her week of captivity, Elizabeth had grown into an awareness of her own power. She had manipulated James like an expert swordsman drives an opponent into a corner. All to save a blacksmith’s apprentice she had befriended as a child. And now, instead of flying home to Port Royal and safety, she was about to undertake another perilous adventure. If the Commodore did as she had requested, they would soon be back under the guns of that ghostly galleon that had sprung up out of black night with cannons blazing. And his precious little girl would be in the midst of fire and fighting and flying shrapnel. He must stop this, if at all possible.
Hurrying up to Norrington, he objected, “Commodore, I must question the wisdom of this.”
But he was already too late.
* * * * *
Commodore Norrington felt himself being pulled in too many different directions. Painstakingly he had sorted through the threads that entangled him, seeking the course wherein lay his duty. He had not been completely comfortable with the governor’s decision to abandon the boy Turner. While the lad’s actions had been rash, he had, it seemed, managed to pry Elizabeth out of the hands of the crew of the Black Pearl. Of course she had then fallen into the hands of that pirate Sparrow who had been on the loose thanks to Will, but that had turned out far better than he’d been given reason to expect. While the boy deserved punishment, the kind of death he would find at the hands of pirates was far beyond his due. And Norrington was not a man who sought petty vengeance against a rival.
Nor had he been sure that his duty to maintain law and order in the Caribbean did not demand that he pursue the Black Pearl while he had the chance and the benefit of Sparrow’s expert knowledge of the ship and its crew—although Sparrow’s clear desire to chase after that ship had been the strongest argument against that course of action. But the Black Pearl would indeed still be there for the chasing, more’s the pity, at a later date.
No. What had decided him to bend to the governor’s will had been the knowledge that that course of action would remove Elizabeth to safety. Certainly that was the governor’s motive, and it was one of which Norrington approved.
But he had not expected the outcome of that decision. Instead of accepting the judgment of those who had her best interests at heart, his fiery beloved had turned and faced them down. Had rejected protection and safety and had demanded that Will Turner be rescued. James Norrington had the grace to be ashamed, both of his tacit willingness to leave Will to his fate, and for his underestimation of Elizabeth’s courage and loyalty.
Now his old friend was questioning his change of orders. He knew it must appear that he was going against his better judgment for the sake of a green girl’s emotional outburst, but James Norrington had never led with his heart. Oh, he was glad he could indulge Elizabeth’s evident desire within the bounds of his duty. But he would never have sacrificed that duty to her pleading eyes. He was sorry for the governor. He knew the anguish the man had suffered over the last week—knew how much he must be dreading further heart-break. But he must pursue the course he knew was correct.
Firmly he informed the older man, “With all due respect, Governor, Mr. Turner is a subject of the British Crown and therefore under my protection.” He had to force himself to meet his friend’s stricken eyes. Pressing his lips together, he braced himself for Governor Swann’s outburst.
It did not come. He should have known that a good man such as Weatherby Swann would support right action once it was pointed out to him.
* * * * *
The Governor glanced once towards his daughter, then looked back at Commodore Norrington with a half smile. They were two of a kind, his daughter and the good commodore. No personal sacrifice would turn either of them from a course they had deemed right. Elizabeth was willing to risk her life to save the boy who had saved her life. The commodore was willing to do the same.
Governor Swann knew he was not a brave man. Oh, he could stand on the battlements during a cannonade if he felt it was his duty. But he would not choose a course of danger when another option existed. It had been a mistake for him to try to force Elizabeth into his own mould. She was her mother’s daughter in more than her sparkling brown eyes. He nodded to himself and looked up at the commodore with a fuller smile. If the man felt it was his duty to rescue Will Turner, there was nothing to be done about it. A hundred guns had no chance of turning James aside from doing what he believed was right.
And so he gave his approval to the commodore’s decision to provide Crown protection to the blacksmith’s apprentice. “Rightly so,” he agreed.
But his heart failed him as he thought of what might lie ahead.
* * * * *
The slightest sympathetic smile touched the corners of James Norrington’s mouth as he saw the governor fight and win that battle. There were many kinds of heroism, not the least of which was the bravery of a man who was naturally timid. He saw Governor Swann glance over at his daughter standing by the ship’s rail, looking pale and tired. She had been through such an ordeal already. His heart longed to remove her from all this danger and bloodshed, but she had made that impossible.
When Weatherby Swann looked back at James Norrington, the governor seemed older somehow. His eyes held a look of bewildered loss that touched the commodore.
“Take care of her,” the governor requested in a voice that trembled a little.
Norrington smiled more fully at his friend, a promise in his eyes. Of course. You did not need to ask. He looked down, knowing he wanted nothing more than to obey the governor’s wishes. It had been his dream ever since the moment he had realized that the child he had known had become a beautiful woman he did not know.
When he had first met Elizabeth on the crossing of the Atlantic, she had been a sparkling mischievous little—well, “monkey” came to mind, also “minx” and “brat.” Nothing was safe or sacred from her inquisitive, adventuresome ways. Whenever she went missing and her concerned papa would bustle about nervously, she would be found in some new, unthought-of location in the ship—splashing about in the bilges; perching on the fighting top; chasing rats in the ship’s stores; once even conversing with a sailor under discipline in the brig. The galley, the gun decks, the bowsprit (that had given them all a turn); the captain’s cabin (for which she had received a sound scolding); the quarterdeck where only officers were allowed; the forecastle racks (to try out a hammock, and she’d had fleas for the rest of the trip). Once she had made it up the rigging to the top gallant yard before she was missed. Fearless and intrepid and adorable and as ubiquitous as a cockroach. Whatever a man most particularly wanted her not to see or hear, there she would be found wide-eyed and open-eared.
The men had loved her, given her trinkets gleaned from their travels, told her wild and unfortunately off-colour tales of their adventures, taught her rollicking songs, and assisted her in her insatiable thirst for knowledge of ships and the sea. If a gently-born girl could become a cabin boy, Elizabeth nearly had. She’d learnt navigation and had sweet-talked her way into taking the helm on more than one occasion. In fact she’d been a quicker study than the actual cabin boys. Once when they’d thought they might be engaged by an enemy ship, he’d been horrified to find her helping the powder monkey. Fortunately that encounter had come to naught. The Dauntless was a power with which to be reckoned and few ships chose to take the risk.
When young Will Turner had joined them, the mischief had doubled. He’d caught them having a duel—with un-bated blades. Pranks abounded. A rather badly drawn charcoal mermaid had appeared on the main chart in the captain’s cabin. Mice showed up in sea boots. Once, the captain’s dinner had been served to the crew. It had been a journey he’d never forget, and one of which he’d been glad to see the end.
He had been relieved when they’d reached Port Royal and little Elizabeth Swann was still in one piece—brown as a berry, entirely freckled, and with the vocabulary of a navy tar—but missing no limbs.
There, the new governor had assumed control over the gradually recovering capitol of Jamaica. As commander of Fort Charles, James had worked closely with the man to resurrect the city from the aftermath of the great earthquake that had nearly destroyed it, and he had been surprised and delighted to discover that it was no hardship; that somehow, they had become friends.
And so he had often met Elizabeth in long relaxed evenings at the Swann’s home, where she had plied him with questions about his adventures at sea and the battles in which he had fought and the strategies that had prevailed. She’d been as eager and bright as a young ensign, forcing him to recall minute details of wind and sea and the placement of men, occasionally offering suggestions that were ludicrous, but sometimes he was surprised to realize that her strategy might have turned the tide sooner or entirely in some past action.
That had been one of the reasons he had felt she would be such an ideal wife for him. They were already friends, and she would understand his duties and his love of the sea. Now, it seemed his dreams were about to be fulfilled. He should have been happy.
At the sound of Governor Swann’s footsteps heading up the stairs to the quarterdeck, Norrington looked up from his musings. The moment to which he had been looking forward and which he had been dreading had come. He bowed his head for a moment.
How he wished that Elizabeth had not felt so trapped that she had to barter her consent to his proposal for his consent to rescue Will Turner. James felt an unjust rush of anger at Will for coming between Elizabeth and him in what should have belonged to the two of them alone. For making what should have been a joyous occasion, unclouded by any doubt, into this painfully tense moment.
Glancing over at Elizabeth who was staring fixedly at the deck, James Norrington compared this strained silent woman with the laughing eager-eyed girl they had rescued and his heart constricted. Something was very wrong here.
Softly he spoke her name: “Elizabeth.”
She looked up at him, her eyes large and haunted. He held out his arm to her as one might to a frightened little bird. What had happened? What had he unwittingly done to make her so afraid? He had never really feared that Will Turner was a serious rival for Elizabeth’s regard. He had assumed that Will was merely suffering from calf love and would eventually transfer his attentions to a young woman more suited to his station. But now he knew an insidious fear that Elizabeth’s affections had been truly engaged by young William, and her bargain with himself was nothing more than a desperate attempt to save not her childhood friend, but the man she truly loved. He shied away from the thought, but it persisted.
For a moment he thought Elizabeth might refuse to come to him, might indeed just remain there frozen and staring at his arm forever. But finally she moved to his side and he felt the feather light brush of her fingers resting on his sleeve.
* * * * *
Elizabeth had watched as the exchange of property had taken place between her father and . . . her fiancé, she thought the word for the first time. She felt drained, emptied of all volition, more exhausted than after the battle on the Interceptor. She could see that James was holding out his arm towards her, but she couldn’t seem to move towards him.
The finality of her bargain terrified her. What had she done? She met the commodore’s worried eyes. What had she done to him? Whatever it had been, an eternal knell had been sounded. She had given her word. He was holding out his arm to her. Claiming what she had promised to him. As though she were walking on the bottom of the sea, she moved towards him and set her hand as lightly as possible on his sleeve, feeling his muscles tense beneath the fabric. If only it were Will to whom she was promised. But that could never be, now.
Norrington looked into the dark eyes of the woman he loved, searching for some answer to his questions. But Elizabeth’s eyes only raised more questions. He bowed his head, searching for the right words. “I am . . .” he hesitated, looking up, “. . . concerned that your answer was perhaps . . .” He halted, mouth still open, but no inspired eloquence dropped like live coals on his tongue. Lowering his head again, he swallowed hard and took a couple of deep breaths before turning to face her. “. . . less than sincere,” he finished.
Elizabeth gazed seriously up at him, silent for a moment. He knew, then. Or he suspected. She supposed she had been very obvious. But he did not understand. She had not been lying to him. Dropping her eyes, she began. “I would not give my word lightly.” When she glanced up, Commodore Norrington had closed his eyes and turned away from her.
“Yes, I understand.” James kept his voice low and reassuring, trying not to drive Elizabeth into withdrawing further. Opening his eyes, he tilted his head back and gazed at the hard blue sky, pursing his lips. This certainly qualified as the most difficult conversation he had ever held. But if they were ever to have a chance at finding love out of all this mistrust, he needed to speak to her. Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at her. Even grimy and soot-covered, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “But is it so wrong,” his voice held a note of plea, “that I should want it given unconditionally?”
Elizabeth found she could not look at the commodore. No it was not wrong. A man like James deserved everything whole and perfect in love—not this crippled, broken gift she had to give him. She must never let him know. She must not hurt him any more.
“It is not a condition,” she insisted softly, trying to smile. “It is a request.”
She bowed her head looking blindly at her hands on the Dauntless’s railing, then equally blindly she gazed out to the sea. Somewhere out there was freedom. But she had made her choice. There had never been any real hope for freedom for the governor’s daughter. She only had the right to choose her own chains. And she had chosen.
“Your answer would not change mine,” she reassured James. Then she pressed her lips together. The truth was a bitter thing, not at all like the stories. But she and James respected one another. Surely on that, they could build a life somehow bearable for both of them. And she could tell he loved her.
“You are a . . . fine man, James,” she told him. Nothing she had ever done in her life had prepared her for the difficulty of this moment. But she managed to turn and look into his concerned and loving eyes. She managed to lift the corners of her mouth in a smile. She managed not to weep.
James Norrington knew Elizabeth did not love him the way he did her. She trembled beside him, promising him her life, demanding nothing in return, asking only one boon. But she was still the woman he would choose above all others. And she would not break her word.
“Well. Very well.” His voice was sober, not hopeful as it should have been. But surely, with time, he could win her heart. At least now he would have that chance. He looked down at the lovely woman who had agreed to be his bride. She smiled bravely up at him. His own smile grew more genuine for a moment.
“Excellent,” he breathed.
But why did gaining his heart’s desire feel so much like losing everything he held dear?
TBC
4 All I Ask is a Tall Ship