A/N: one of the themes in here is blood lust, but really it's just a oneshot of the scene where jack meets norrington in the movie from norrington's pov (first person). i really enjoyed writing this, but i must admit that it has lots of issues. please review!
I was nervous—painfully so, but I knew that just this once I had to follow my instincts. I swallowed hard, taking deep breaths, telling myself it was no harder than the countless battles I had been in. Even my first battle, terrifying as it had been, was not so bad; after all, I was still alive. I remembered it all vividly; the images still burned in my retinas at night when sleep took hold of the loose reins attached to my mind.
A cannonball flies past my head, crashing into the towering mizzenmast behind me, the splintering of wood grinding in my ears. I know I am supposed to be running to the powder magazine, but I am frozen with fear, paralyzed and glued to one particular spot of blood on the creaking boards of the deck. I just barely have the presence of mind to turn around, only to be met with the sight of the enormous mizzenmast beginning to fall. I try to put my hands up in defense, move out of the way—something!—But I am helpless, cowering in the mast's ominous shadow, fearing for my life. I hear a shout of, "Get outta the way you mindless twit!" and then another force is crashing into me from the other side as a midshipman dives at my motionless form, sending us both to the deck, slick with blood. We slide together across the boards—and just in time too, for only a moment later, the mast finally crashes onto the deck, lying there like a beached whale, creating what seem like gaping holes in the deck's once polished wood. I weep. This ship is my life, and it pains me to watch it slowly become demolished.
While snorting, tears running down my face, I run to the powder magazine, tripping and stumbling, but never stopping until I reach the door, flinging it open. None of the other ship's boys are crying, but they say nothing as I grab a bag of gunpowder, hurling myself down to the gun-deck where the sailors to which I am assigned wait. The head of the division gives me a small berating glance, but takes the powder from me, barking orders to the men.
"Swab!" he cries, and a sailor shoves a damp sponge down the barrel and out again. "Powder! Ball! Wad!" The charge is rammed in, followed by the cannonball and wad, and I stand at attention, trying to look serious and manly. From there on, the rest of the process blows by me until suddenly everyone is backing up from the gun, and I find myself being pulled with them.
The drum sounds again, and with a large BOOM sound, all of the guns on our side fire, rocking the ship and blowing holes in the French vessel across from us. There is a roar from my comrades, and I feel a cheer rip from my throat as well as I watch the French ship sink, its sailors crying out as they fall to their watery graves. Part of me is sick inside, but the other part exults in their demise; somehow it doesn't seem to matter that they die, just so long as we are victorious, and though the ship is damaged now, its nothing that can't be fixed.
I pulled myself out of my reminiscing, shaking my head a little bit as if to dispel the images in my mind's eye. Elizabeth, I reminded myself, making my way to where she stands.
"May I have a moment?" I asked her politely. She nodded just as politely and then stepped with me out near the battlement. The vision of the sea calmed my nerves and the breeze frisked about, seeming almost liberating. Elizabeth leaned against the worn stone of the sturdy battlement, catching her breath and fanning herself. I wished briefly that I had a fan—it was actually quite hot, especially with my itchy wig. I looked at her for a moment, trying to think of words eloquent enough to express how beautiful she looked to me. The sunlight caught in her hair and the way a few loose wisps had been blown free to frame her face, made her look breathtakingly beautiful, albeit slightly unconventional. My breath caught in my throat. "Uh… you look lovely, Elizabeth," I finally came up with, cursing my maladroit speech.
She smiled a little and made small agreeable noises, but her mind was obviously elsewhere. Her fanning seemed almost frantic now. I was half-tempted to help her fan herself, but nowhere in etiquette had it ever said anything about helping overheated ladies with their fans. I resisted the urge. "I apologize if I seem forward," I started falteringly, "But I must speak my mind." I paused to think about my words for a moment, looking down at the ground shyly. "This promotion throws into sharp relief what I have not yet achieved." I gathered my courage and looked up. "A marriage to a fine woman. You have become a fine woman Elizabeth." I cursed myself again for beating around the bush, waiting anxiously for her reply.
"I can't breathe," she murmured, fanning even harder now and leaning further against the wall.
I turned around briefly, afraid of seeing rejection in her face. "Yes, I—I'm a bit nervous myself." What an understatement, I thought. Something splashed, and I frowned, turning around. Elizabeth was gone… "Elizabeth?" I asked, and then it clicked in my head. I rushed to the side of the battlement, my blood pounding loudly in my ears. "Elizabeth! My God," I shouted, the remnants of a splash just visible below me. I have to save her, I have to save her, I have to save her, I thought, over and over again, hastily removing my coat and making to dive in after her.
Gillette grabbed my arm, and I swerved around angrily. "The rocks!" he cried, "Sir, it's a miracle she missed them!"
Damn you, I thought vehemently to myself, gritting my teeth, damn you and your common sense! But I knew that he was right, and raced down the steps to the dock, praying fervently to God for her safety.
Bent over Elizabeth's half naked form crouched a tanned man, sopping wet. There were beads and other such things tied in his dark, shoulder length hair and his hands were weighted down with rings. He beat me to it, the bastard! A wave of jealousy and mistrust swamped me and I drew my sword, placing it a mere inch from the tip of his nose. "On your feet," I demanded coldly, feeling hatred burn out my common sense. He stood, dubiously eyeing the tip of my sword with a sort of confident nonchalance that I would restrain myself from lopping off his nose. I am not certain how he could be so confident of that, as even I was not so sure I could hold my violent instinct back. The Governor and Elizabeth were talking, but I couldn't hear them through the red mist of loathing that descended over me as I glared at the scoundrel.
Elizabeth looked sharply at me, snapping me out of my trance. "Commodore, do you really intend to kill my rescuer?" she demanded.
The mild common sense at the back of my head battled with my instincts; one second I would think, she does have a point, while the next second the curtain of detestation would come over me again, leaving reasonable thought behind. Finally, I consented to her good sense. "I believe thanks are in order," I said, barely able to contain my revulsion. I held out my hand for him to shake it, and he eyed it askance with mistrust and some level of disgust for a few seconds before finally and reluctantly clasping my hand in a handshake. I took the opportunity and pushed his sleeve up. A sense of sickening triumph overwhelmed me as I spotted the raised reddish welt of the pirate brand. "Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we, pirate?" I spat victoriously, barely containing a smirk.
"Hang him," the Governor ordered.
"Keep your guns on him men," was my command. "Gillette, fetch some irons." My eye was drawn towards a tattoo of a sparrow flying over the ocean and I gave a faint smile. "Well, well," I said, feeling obscurely pleased. "Jack Sparrow, isn't it?" I gladly released his hand.
He winced a little. "Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please, sir," he corrected.
I felt a sense of power swell within me. "Well, I don't see your ship, Captain," I said, looking around, an almost cruel smile lurking on my lips. I tried to force it down.
"I'm in the market," he replied, adding, "as it were…"
"He said he'd come to commandeer one," Murtogg informed me, not quite glaring at the pirate.
"Told ya' he was tellin' the truth," Mullroy said smugly. "These are his, sir." He handed me a bundle of mismatched possessions. I raised my eyebrows, examining each item.
"No additional shots nor powder." I opened a compass that lay in the pile. It pointed straight at Elizabeth, much to my amusement. "A compass that doesn't point north." I unsheathed the sword. "And I half expected it to be made of wood. You are without doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of."
"But you have heard of me," the pirate reasoned. I felt the hatred rising within me again and glared, pulling him towards Gillette to chain him. Wretch, I thought to myself.
Then Elizabeth was speaking to me again, defending that—that filth! "Commodore I really must protest!" she exclaimed.
I heard her, but ignored the comment for the time being, directing Gillette as he put the chains on Sparrow. "Carefully Lieutenant," I warned.
Elizabeth planted herself firmly in front of me, looking truly determined. "Pirate or not, this man saved my life," she insisted.
By this point I was tired of having to give reasons, but I did so for her. "One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness," I rebutted, my tone that of a gentle reminder.
"Though it seems enough to condemn 'im," the pirate added, jumping into the conversation without the grounds to do so.
I gave him my coldest stare. "Indeed." Gillette moved back, having completed his task.
"Finally," Sparrow said, and at first I was confused, but in another moment, he had thrown the shackles around Elizabeth's neck, tightening it just enough to make me tense with anxiety. Damnable pirate! I thought to myself.
"No, don't shoot!" the Governor frantically cried to my men, his eyes on his beloved daughter.
"I knew you'd warm up to me," the scoundrel said harshly, his wet body pressed against hers in a way that was far too close to satisfy propriety. "Commodore Norrington my affects please," he said a little louder, adding as an afterthought, "And my hat." I hesitated to give it back to him, feeling hatred as I had never felt before for everything that he stood for, everything that he represented. "Commodore!" he reminded as warning, tightening the shackles around Elizabeth's graceful neck. I handed them over, but my blood boiled as the scoundrel murmured something inaudible in her ear, something I was certain must be insidious, or inappropriate for her frail ears.
I did not hear what he whispered to her, but her response was loud and clear. "It's Miss Swann," she spat defiantly back to him, vehemence showing through.
The pirate spoke a little louder now, just loud enough for me to hear it if I strained. "Miss Swann, if you'd be so kind. Come, come dear, we don't have all day." His expression grew infuriatingly smug as he turned her around within the confines of his shackles, his lips curling into a grin, and I longed to slap the look off of his filthy face. "Now if you'd be very kind," he said, insufferably self-satisfied sounding as Elizabeth tied one of his dirty "affects" around his waist. "Easy on the goods darling," he chided gently, smiling and mocking me with his eyes as she was forced to perform a sort of hugging motion to replace his "affects." I just barely kept myself from growling.
"You're despicable," Elizabeth hissed, buckling it around his waist with a vengeance. I would wince if I had any sympathy for the man. I didn't.
The pirate still seemed unfazed. "Sticks and stones love. I saved your life, you save mine; we're square," he told her. His attention turned back to my men and me. "Gentlemen!" he addressed us loudly, adding softly, "Milady. You will always remember this as the day that you—" He was drawing the moment out, the bastard. His smile was undeniably roguish. "—almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!" Suddenly, he freed Elizabeth, thrusting her forward into my arms and dashing off, swinging on a rope that hung from a beam nearby.
"Now will you shoot him?!" the Governor cried.
"OPEN FIRE!!" I shouted with relish, feeling an overwhelming sensation of blood lust—I wanted him to die, I wanted to see the blood flowing from gaping wounds, staining the ground crimson—I stopped myself, feeling almost sick, reminding myself to keep a cool head. "On his heels. Gillette, Mr. Sparrow has a dawn appointment with the gallows. I would hate for him to miss it," I said coldly, not looking at Gillette, my eyes following the retreating form of that damned pirate. It was not the first time that I had wanted bloodshed. Nor would it be the last. Not with him still alive.
A/N: like? hate? want to burn?