A little fic I wrote pretending that everybody's favorite Commodore didn't die in the third movie. I may expand on it at a later date.
Disclaimer: The characters of the Pirates of the Caribbean belong to Disney and so I get no profit from them.
"Back to your station, sailor." He tried to keep an authoritative tone but insanity glinted in the man's eye and caused his lips to tremble slightly.
The man continued to advance, his barnacle encrusted hand clutching a rusted sword. Norrington took a step back but found himself against the rail, the cold, perpetual dampness of the cursed ship soaking through the coat of his admiral's uniform.
"That's an order from your commanding officer!"
Unheeding, Bootstrap had begun chanting the motto of the Flying Dutchman: "part of the crew, part of the ship". He had begun in a hoarse, creaking voice that was barely audible to even Norrington, but his muttering grew louder, calling the attention of the rest of the crew. Even now he could hear the footsteps of heralding the arrival of the other members of the watch.
The admiral brandished his weapon and knew that this was his final chance to establish his authority over the situation. The Dutchman's crew was not fond of the naval presence on board Jones's ship and would side with Turner. In a strong voice he commanded, "Return to your station, man. THAT WAS AN ORD-er."
The last syllable came was gasped out and the admiral, in surprise, glanced down at his torso, now pierced just above his stomach by Turner's sword. Immediately the deranged sailor shrank back and Norrington, despite his quickly fading senses, perceived why. An uneven gate echoed over the deck of the Dutchman bringing to his nostrils a dead, fishy stench and to his ears the chilling voice of a Scotsman.
"Do you fear death, James Norrington?" Davy Jones hissed.
"James…wake up James…JAMES!" A distinctly female voice was calling to him. As an officer in the Royal Navy, he had seen battle and even death on many occasions. He knew that it could sometimes delude the man in its clutches and was indeed thankful that he was allowed to hear a far more pleasant voice than Jones's as he breathed his last. He could feel the weight of the cursed sailor's blade press into his chest and begin to shake, jolting his entire torso. In his shock, he grasped at his chest, but found his hand clutching, instead of the sword, a woman's hand. He squinted into her face, half-expecting to see that of the captain of the Flying Dutchman, but recognized the pretty features and blonde hair.
"Elizabeth?" He whispered the name cautiously, as if the sound of his voice would frighten the apparition way.
To his amazement, she did not vanish. Instead, her hand began to stroke his dark hair, cropped short to accommodate his wig. She was truly there, reassuring him.
"I'm here, James. I'm here."
"But why?" he choked. "You are engaged to Will Turner!"
"The blacksmith?"
"No! He's a pirate!" James panted as he clutched her to him, wrapping her in a strong embrace as if to protect her from the buccaneers that his nocturnal imaginings led him to believe masqueraded as the citizens of Port Royal.
"Shush darling. It's alright. It was only a dream." Elizabeth whispered as she laid her head against his shoulder and continued to reassure him, murmuring soothing phrases and caressing his chest. Slowly his breathing calmed and his pulse became regular again. It had only been a nightmare, he thought as he chuckled at his own foolishness. Curses existed only in stories, as did ghost pirates. Moonlight could not turn men into skeletons; the approach of death did not call squid-like sea captains to deliver a final ultimatum; a mere trade company could never gain control over the Royal Navy.