Author's Note: This is simply a flight of fancy that my muses delivered, and probably, at least in the second part, not a realistic premise. However, it wanted to be written. Note to self: Don't let Norrington get in the brandy again …
BOTH SIDES OF THE GLASS
By ErinRua
Part One: NORRINGTON
The Governor's mansion had never resounded with gaiety so bright, nor filled itself with such a bounty of flowers and feasting. The light, merry notes of a minuet carried with it voices and laughter, and every table gleamed with the finest of foods and the brightest of blossoms. But then the wedding of the Governor's only daughter was an event long-awaited and deserved no less celebration.
Thus it was perhaps odd that Commodore James Norrington found himself standing pressed and powdered and ever so correct amongst a bevy of his officers and other gentlemen, and yet he was alone. At this moment the only companions he chose were his thoughts and a snifter of brandy. Those who knew him saw the shuttered look on his smooth-shaven face and did not disturb him, which was how he preferred it to be.
And so he watched, as the newly-weds glided about the room. So lightly they moved that it seemed they trod upon the music itself and not on the floor at all. Where William Turner had learned to dance he could not imagine, as a blacksmith had precious little time and less need for the social graces. Then Norrington winced at his own silent barb and let the slow flame of brandy burn the thought away. William Turner had, simply and obviously, cared enough to extend himself so as not to shame his lovely lady, which any man with wit would commend.
Duly chidden, Norrington continued to let his eyes drift above the rim of his glass, following their graceful flight among the other dancers. She was lovely, in every truest sense of the word. Elizabeth Swann … the very name was perfection. From the tips of her silk-slippered toes to the top of her elegantly-coifed head, it suited her. She was grace without effort, beauty without pretense, pride without arrogance and cool as a lily but with a gamine's keen glint lurking in those lovely brown eyes. He had wished her for his own. Never had he offered a thing so truly or with so whole a heart as when he had asked for her hand. He would love her - of that he had no doubt. Her every wish, her every hope, her every dream he would have cherished above his own, saving only his duty and honor. How long had that hope lingered, before ever he dared give it voice?
Strange, how life worked out. Strange, how one day they could pull a half-drowned boy from a sea of burning wreckage, and the wheels of destiny abruptly turned into motion. Norrington was not a man who knew any great belief in fate. He was a man who knew the geometry of wind and sails and how to command men when fear or sloth might obstruct them, and every last convoluted paragraph of the military codes of conduct. But perhaps … he had never stood a chance. Perhaps Elizabeth was never meant to be his.
Perhaps that tall boy out there, surprisingly elegant in a claret-colored justacorps coat and a bit of lace at his throat - surely Elizabeth had a hand in that, as well - was something Commodore Norrington was not. And that thought surprised him.
Norrington's free hand drifted to his side, where it clasped the cool hilt of the dress sword hanging there. The sword that Will Turner had made for his promotion to commodore, a sword of such rarely perfect balance and craftsmanship that it had astonished him. When faced with the truth of Elizabeth's choice at last, Norrington's conditions had been simple: 'I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life.' And Will Turner had done just that.
The music ended, the dancers slowly milling amongst themselves and bystanders, smiling, laughing, faces shining. Turner stood to one side with Elizabeth at his right hand, smiling often to those who stopped with well-wishes. Norrington watched the young man, pondering. A blacksmith and by some definitions a pirate, or at least the son of one, and yet the lad apparently lacked the acumen to know just how out of his realm he was, here in this house of polished floors, discreet servants and fine English furniture.
Or perhaps he simply did not care. Everything Turner wanted in the world stood at his side, her laughter tinkling like ice in a crystal glass as she clasped a lady friend's gloved fingers. The woman offered her greetings to Turner, next, and Norrington found himself amused as the groom very properly bowed over the lady's hand, brushed her knuckles with a chaste kiss - and straightened with a twinkling grin that could only be described as roguish. Whatever the threesome spoke of, all three of them laughed. Then Turner bowed once again and the lady departed.
"I do hope Elizabeth won't regret her decision," a very prim male voice said nearby. "He seems an awfully decent chap, but …"
Norrington sipped his brandy and permitted himself a bit of eavesdropping, as the man's wife spoke in reply. "Now, George, you know perfectly well that Will Turner is as sterling as they come. Granted, a tradesman is not what one would expect, but look how diligently he has applied himself. He is even said to have prospered himself in two or three off-island trading ventures."
"Yes … yes, the boy does work hard. But …"
Smothering a wry smile, Norrington pondered that those 'trading ventures' may well have involved a certain rogue of a pirate, but since nothing ever substantiated his hunches, he let them rest unspoken. Jack Sparrow was another conundrum himself, once Norrington had taken time to truly review the man's record. A pirate, aye, but a remarkably bloodless one, for all his lurid reputation.
"George," the woman said tartly, "for heaven's sake! Good breeding requires more than being born to a certain station. Look at Philip and Susanna's son - he's up to his cravat in gambling debts. And that Witherspoon boy - surely you've heard of his indiscretions with certain ladies. Let us not forget young Samuel Hepplewaite, either, carousing and fighting in taverns - I dare say our Elizabeth will never have to worry what her husband is doing or whether their house is about to be seized by debt-collectors!"
"You are correct, of course, Sarah." The man sighed. "There is no doubt the boy is perfectly mad about her, and his reputation while colorful is that of an honest and honorable young man."
"Of course it is. And who's to say colorful is a bad thing? Come, dear, let us try some more of that excellent punch."
And there was another thing. Midshipmen were drilled and hounded and bullied in all matters of seamanship, and most particularly in matters of duty, honor and the conduct becoming to officers and gentlemen. All of which a simple young blacksmith owned without effort. In all the years of his apprenticeship Turner had never failed in maintaining his proper place. A gentle smile, a precise, heels-together bow, a soft-spoken greeting or word of respect, all these he had offered to his supposed "betters" without fail.
And yet behind those keen dark eyes lurked heated steel, as Norrington himself had found out, a simmering, fierce refusal to deny or step away from The Right Thing, whatever it might be and however perilous the risks. Even now, there seemed a very subtle arrogance - though perhaps that was too strong a word - in the boy's deportment. Behind the smiles and bows his eyes remained steady as a blade; before Port Royal's finest gentlemen and ladies he was cool as glass; no matter what grand title was introduced to him and his bride that stubborn chin never lowered. Will Turner plain and simply refused to be intimidated, yet he did so with such smiling grace that none could take offense.
Only then did Norrington realize that here and now was the first time he had looked, truly looked, at the man Will Turner was. A good man. An honest man. A man without guile or deceit or the petty ambitions that drove others to compromise honor, or to wink an eye at the little white lies that whittled away a man's integrity. Across the room that gentle smile was oft-repeated, brown eyes frequently narrowed in merriment and the white teeth flashing. Ah, and when Turner looked at his bride, when he beheld his Elizabeth at his side, where she would be until death did them part … Norrington saw the naked truth of a blacksmith's heart, shining and gentle and without reservation, an entire soul offered in each tender glance, and just as gently received.
Strangely, in so seeing, Norrington did not sense the old empty pang of loss, or the hollow twist of defeat. Instead, he felt … as if somewhere within a window had been opened, and for the first time in too long a fresh breeze blew through, in one clean gust scattering the dust of might-have-beens forever. For the first time, he looked at Elizabeth Swann, now Elizabeth Turner, and felt only peace. He had loved her. Once. And now he could let her go.
Across the room two sets of dark eyes lifted and met his, and two smiles bloomed. He stood with a small smile of his own as they came towards him, and set aside the brandy snifter as Elizabeth offered her hand. For the first time he could touch those dainty fingers and not feel his heart trip clumsily over itself.
"Why are you not dancing, Commodore?" Elizabeth chided teasingly. "I dare say brandy is not the warmest companion."
"I fear my feet are surer on a ship's deck or a parade ground than a dance floor, Mrs. Turner," he replied. "I thought to spare your lady guests being trampled."
"Nonsense, Commodore," came the groom's reply, and clear mischief glinted in his eyes. "I think I shall take offense if you do not grant my wife at least one dance."
Norrington concealed his shock, but just barely, as the thought resounded in his head; my God, where does he learn such trust? For in the young man's brilliant smile he saw only friendship, offered with no slightest cloud of jealousy or suspicion, and his own heart twisted queerly.
"Far be it from me," Norrington replied with a droll wink, "To offend the Governor's son-in-law. Particularly when he possesses such wicked talent with a sword. If I may, Mrs. Turner?"
The musicians were starting up again, violin and cello leading the opening bars. Elizabeth's smile held the radiance of sunlight on pink roses as she laid her fingers on his sleeve.
"You may, Commodore Norrington."
Then they stepped away into the circle of polished floor, into the warm glow of chandeliers and smiles and candlelight on beautiful gowns. Will Turner stood among the gentlemen and officers with his heart in his eyes, watching his wife turn the first page of their future together.
***