A Martyr's Choice
Fanfiction: Pirates of the Caribbean: CotBP
Characters: Elizabeth, Norrington, Jack, Will, Governor Swann, Gillette and Estrella
Rating: K+ for minor swearing
Disclaimer: Me steal the PotC plot and characters? Actually- *smack* Borrowed! Borrowed without permission. But with every intention of bringing them back to you (except James. He's mine.) All credit to the big-eared mouse.
Elizabeth has made a wedding promise, but there's nothing she wants more than to break it...at first anyways. Should she do what's right and fall in love with James? Or will her heart follow the pirate blacksmith that so deftly stole it away? Elizabeth has a choice to make – a martyr's choice.
A/N: I am well aware that 'The Lady or the Tiger' was not written until the 1800's, but it's such a powerful story and fits so well, that we're going to ignore this fact. Again, all credit for the idea of said story to the author, Frank Stockton, and my respectful request that you read it.
A/N: A bottle of Rum and passage on The Dauntless go to Damsel-in-stress for her excellent beta. Thanks, matey!
~^///^~
We left the music behind and the dance carried on, as we stole away to the seashore.
We smelt the brine, felt the wind in our hair and with sadness you paused.
Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go, your world was not mine, your eyes told me so.
Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time and I wondered why.
Turning to go, I heard you call out my name like a bird in a cage spreading its' wings to fly.
"The old ways are lost," you sang as you flew, and I wondered why.
~Loreena McKennitt, The Old Ways
~^///^~
The sky was hell bent on showcasing Elizabeth's emotions, and she couldn't say she really blamed it. Honestly, the way she felt, she was surprised it wasn't raining. Yet.
The chill wind felt good though against her fevered skin, her pale strands of hair twisting against her cheeks. Ever since she'd made that choice, those two simple words, she'd burned with fever, her skin boiling to the touch, sweat forever casting a slick sheen across her body.
I am. Funny, how damning those two words could be. I am,a simple response to a complicated question she had hoped to never have to answer.
She supposed it could have been worse. Will was alive, she was alive, and they were home. But there the good things ended. The love that beat furiously with every breath she took in his presence was slated to die and there was nothing she could do about it. Will would go back to whatever path he chose and she would belong to James Norrington.
But it could have been worse.
The whole plan that had ended in the words 'I am' might have been created, voiced and confirmed in the space of a minute, but it was anything but hasty. The instant the idea had appeared like a killer salvation in her brain, she had rebelled from it, searching for some alternative, but a moment later it had spilled from her lips and there had been no way to recall it.
A wedding gift...? She couldn't think of a worse wedding gift. But if Will lived, it was worth it. Anything was worth his life.
It had surprised them, she saw that, and before the Commodore concealed his emotions again, she saw the sudden hope and joy flash across his features.
"Elizabeth! Are you accepting the Commodore's proposal?"
Everything in her had wanted to make her scream, 'No!', but she merely lifted her head and confirmed it with two simple words.
"I am."
And now she had to stick to that, with her whole heart, for the rest of her life. It might have been a split-second decision, but she had known from the instant that it crossed her lips that this was a promise she could not break. She knew exactly what she was doing and she was prepared to follow it through with every ounce of her soul. She just had to do a little dying first.
~^///^~
In a window overlooking the sea, James Norrington stood watching her. It hurt to see her slumped that way, delicate and fragile looking in her pale green dress, the salt breeze whipping her hair. He wanted to go down and drape something around her shoulders, keep the chill from her perfect features, take her in his arms, but he didn't know how, and he didn't know what was wrong.
Such a desperate move, impulsive. The implications had not missed him. He had never wanted her acceptance to come in such a way, in front of Sparrow, as a madcap last ditch attempt to save the blacksmith Will Turner. She had said it wasn't a condition, but a request. She'd told him his answer would not change hers. And as much as he longed for this to be true, he held the horribly final truth that Elizabeth did not love him in his mouth like a bitter poison, afraid to swallow.
She had played her acceptance as a trump card, knowing he could not refuse, and as bold, as rash as that was, it was also frightening. To be so desperate so as to throw that after him, to shout it at him...It had the look of a martyring.
It was possible that she would have said 'yes' anyway. He held that thought tightly, praying it was true. It was possible that she merely voiced it to save Turner.
But it was also possible that she loved him not at all and she had made her greatest sacrifice.
Did she love Turner? Was that it? He felt somehow, in some part of his bones, that it was.
Good Lord. He closed his eyes. Elizabeth had vowed to marry him to save the man she loved. And he had no idea what to do about it. He did not know Turner very well, had hoped she merely cared for him.
And it was so easy, watching her, the grace with which she moved, the radiance of her beauty, to dream that she loved him, if not with the endlessness that he held for her, than at least with some amount of passion. Once, it had seemed so true, like that dream was closer than he'd ever imagined. But something had changed, he realized with slow growing numbness: she had fallen in love with William Turner.
No. There was no proof of that.
And yet, there she sat, watching the sea, seeming to hold herself together with her folded arms.
She loved Turner, and she had given that up to save his life. He had not wanted to think this, but he did not see how it could be denied. There was no other explanation. She did not love him.
Pain shot through him. Elizabeth had vowed to marry him, when she loved another.
But what to do? The first time these thoughts had come to plague him, the instant he had seen her defiant, pleading, resolved face, as she gazed up at him, saying, 'I am', he had given her a way out. He asked that her choice be given unconditionally, something he knew she could not do while loving another man. But she had not taken it back, instead she had promised that it was her choice. In effect, she had sworn to forget about Will.
Norrington could not pretend that there was anything that would make him happier, and for a little while, he'd had hope. But then, instead of staying safe in the cabin aboard the Dauntless, she'd rowed out, set the pirates on The Black Pearl free, joined whatever was happening in the caves and then came out with Sparrow and Turner, perched as bold as ever in the back of the boat in her completely improper appropriated Marine uniform.
He wondered what she had said to Turner. Did she try and explain? Did they kiss? He flinched.
Norrington rested his head against the window frame in despair. The only thing he could do was hope that someday, somehow Elizabeth would learn to love him.
~^///^~
The sky was getting progressively stormier, but, oddly, Elizabeth's mood was not. A strange dead acceptance had spread over her. After all, the decision was made. She was going to marry James Norrington, and that was not a bad thing, not really. He was a good man; she'd known that for years. It would not have been hard to love him. Except for Will Turner.
She closed her eyes, licking salt off of her lips before it could dry and crack.
The only thing left to do was try and forget Will before her wedding, so she could go into it with all her heart, not with most of it hovering in a blacksmith shop down the main street.
Besides, he had never even told her he loved her. There had been that moment, when they were so close, alone except for Jack rummaging through gold like a squirrel in a cash of nuts, completely oblivious.
She'd wanted to explain, to tell him why, to make him understand that she loved him, but she couldn't do it and eventually she'd reminded him they were alone and people were waiting for them. "We should return to the Dauntless."
And all he'd said was, "Your fiancé will be wanting to know you're safe."
She felt a sudden irrational anger toward Will. For all of this, turning pirate to save her, crossing and double-crossing everyone, he couldn't come up with something more brilliant to say. He couldn't tell her that he loved her nor could he wish her luck or tell her he was sorry or even kiss her. No, he just muttered softly, almost bitterly, but resigned, "Your fiancé will be wanting to know you're safe."
Could he not be aware of how much she loved him? It went two ways, she supposed. Had anyone bothered to tell Will why she was marrying Norrington? She doubted it.
He probably didn't even know she loved him. Which was better, she guessed, though it hurt. Will should never have to know that she had given everything up when she said 'yes'. It wasn't fair to James. Let Jack tell Will if he wanted. At this moment, no one but Jack, her father, and Norrington himself knew the particular circumstance that had led up to her agreement and no one else needed to.
She felt suddenly bad for Commodore Norrington, or James as she figured she probably should start thinking of him as. It was such an honorable thing to do, giving her another chance to say no. He must know, how could he not?
What must it be like, to have the one you love, love another?
What if Will didn't love her, when she felt the way she did? What if he gave up another's love, and married her, the whole situation, reversed?
She thought about how that would feel, to have Will so close, to hold him, if he didn't love her. Would she be good enough to let him go, to give him that chance? Could she live through that kind of almost? She didn't think so.
It made her feel horrible. How could she propose such a thing, offer him such a cruel dream? She'd held up what he wanted most, but not the way he wanted it. He didn't want her most, he wanted her love, and she had offered only the first. Yet, he couldn't refuse, not when she put it that way. No wonder he'd looked so miserable. At the time, she'd been thinking only of herself, of Will, and she'd never thought of what she was doing to him.
He'd told her clearly that what mattered was her love. He would rather lose her than force her, but that was what he was doing and he had no choice in the matter.
I am a bitch, Elizabeth decided, opening her eyes to watch the waves wreck against the shore. And I have to forget about Will. The least she could do for James after putting him in this terrible situation was give him her heart, her love. And to do that, she could no longer love Will.
It was like suggesting she carve out her lungs. Who would she be if Will's name was not on her lips with every breath, if she did not dream of him with astonishing regularity, shocking even herself sometimes? What would be left if she took the love that kept her heart beating and tore it from her chest? Could she live without it? The answer was that she would have to.
"Elizabeth?"
Her head jerked up, startled, to see James Norrington standing there behind her. He looked ashamed at having startled her.
"Commodore," she greeted, then amended, "James." She made to stand up, but he shook his head and sat down beside her. Pulling off his coat, he tucked it around her shoulders with great care.
"I didn't want you to get cold."
How could she explain that she was burning of a fever not brought by any illness? She must look insane, sitting down here in the cold salt spray without any sort of wrap. But James didn't ask her why she was sitting there. He merely tucked his knees in and placed his hands on the sand behind him.
She didn't often see him like this. He seemed to have set aside the air of command that seemed eternally present in favor of one of regret and depression. His white waistcoat showed off the tenseness of his shoulders, the curve of his spine and Elizabeth wondered why she noticed this now.
"Elizabeth, I-" he started, gazing resolutely at the sea, "I know...you've given me your answer, but I...I don't...when you-" he swallowed, trying to find the right words.
Elizabeth didn't want to hear this. She'd made her decision and she wasn't going to cause him any more pain. She didn't need any more chances to back out. It was insulting. She would stick by her promise, heartbreaking though it might be.
Softly, she reached over and smoothed her hand across his. Surprised, he looked up at her. She smiled softly. "James."
He sat up slightly, lifting his weight off of his hands, and she slipped her fingers under his. She could do this.
Suddenly, he smiled, and wrapped his fingers around hers. They said nothing, simply smiled at each other, each expression laced with a little pain, but genuine nonetheless.
Elizabeth scooted closer to him across the sand, suddenly nervous, and leaned against his side. He pushed his legs out straight and, letting go of her hand gently, placed a hesitant arm around her shoulders.
There was something comforting about being this close to him, his coat across her back. They sat for a while, staring out at the ocean, his thumb moving lightly, subconsciously, across the curve of her shoulder.
Yes, she could do this. She felt some of the love she'd known for him returning, back before Will had complicated everything. James was an easy man to love. She felt an inexplicable desire to pull this warm coat that smelled of him and the sea tighter around her.
Norrington sighed quietly, content, and she found she agreed. There was an assurance in this she had never felt with Will, a safety he imparted with his presence.
It was getting colder, the sky darkening under the angry eyebrows of one of the islands' frequent thunderstorms, and she felt a strange thrill as the wind bore down on them. In the harbour, ships were taking in all canvas and battening things down and a few merchants were running to port in case this one turned real nasty.
She wondered if she would experience the wild violence of the last few days ever again. There was terror in those memories, but there was adventure, too. She would never forget the scream of wind in the lines during a storm, the wicked clash of steel on steel, the gleam of gold, the horror of stabbing a man who would not die, the despair of that bleak, lonely island... It was not really something she'd care to do again, and yet there was some part of her blood that cringed from the normal, boring life she'd led before.
She laughed softly, at the feel of the wind in her hair, at the absurdity of what she was thinking. Boring? As in, not death-defying?
The clouds were looming over them, but she really felt no inclination to move.
"You should be getting back. Your father will be concerned with your whereabouts."
Elizabeth looked up at him and got the sudden feeling that James wanted to sit here and let the storm rage around him, too. What an odd idea, and yet...
"My father will know I am with you."
Norrington almost smiled. "Then perhaps someplace more...proper."
"Oh." They were, after all, sitting alone on a beach together in a storm, Elizabeth realized, and she wearing his coat. "Right."
Norrington slid his arm off her shoulder and stood up, helping her to her feet. Elizabeth pulled the coat off and handed it back, but he took it patiently and drew it back around her shoulders.
"We can't have you catch cold," and he said it with such care and affection, that Elizabeth could find no argument. She slipped her arm through his, with no real hesitation this time, and he guided her up the shore and back through town.
She could do this, as long as she thought only of the man whose arm she clung to, the light in his eyes, the small smile on his face. She could lie to herself.
They passed an old woman with a cart of vegetables who stared at them.
Elizabeth made to take off the coat again, but Norrington prevented her. "Oh, dear," he muttered dryly, "off gallivanting after pirates, only to have people stare because you're wearing my coat. Whatever shall we do?"
Elizabeth laughed, gazing up at him with real affection, holding his arm a little tighter.
She glanced down a side street and her insides turned to ice. Will was standing there, a forgotten bucket of tools in one hand, watching them. There was pain and sorrow written all over his wide, child-like eyes, though he fought to keep his expression neutral and Elizabeth immediately felt guilty. Guilty of what? Of showing affection toward her fiancé? But what she saw most in that expression was how much he loved her, how much agony seeing her like this caused him.
He really, truly did love her, even if he couldn't say it...
No! She was proposed to James! She loved him...didn't she?
Her heart began skipping beats. She had made a promise; she couldn't go back on it now, not even for the expression on Will's face. She. Loved. James. She. Was going. To. Marry him.
She looked down; pulling her thoughts from Will Turner and anything else, fever clenching an ache into her muscles. She tried to let the love she'd been tenuously feeling well up inside her, but it didn't work the same. Not when Will stood less than thirty feet away.
James hadn't seen, he was leading her up to the fort, and she tried to focus on his face instead of the hurt eyes she could feel ricocheting off of her back.
She could not allow herself to love Will. Her heart paid this no mind. It was racing, struggling, a-writhe with thoughts and emotions.
No, she told it heartlessly, coldly. No more thoughts of Will.
Not that this worked, of course, but by the time they reached the fort, she was painfully back on focus, thinking only of James, remembering the rare smiles she had seen today, the devotion in his voice. Maybe he would learn to smile more. He was handsomer when he did. She realized belatedly that she was falling in love with a side of James Norrington few people ever saw.
He took her into the fort, barely acknowledging the men who saluted him. Elizabeth felt plainly embarrassed in his coat, but he seemed to pay it no mind.
They went up to the main room outside his office, still rather battered after the fierce cannoning it had taken. They stood there, sheltered from the storm, not quite sure what to do and feeling a little awkward. Two officers were talking over in the corner and a man passed in the hall, but otherwise it was quiet.
It was beginning to get quite dark inside with the storm clouds moving over, and, for something to do besides stand there, Norrington began to light the lamps.
Elizabeth helped him and they moved around the wall together, igniting small pockets of flame behind the glass. Elizabeth stretched tall to reach one of the brackets and burnt her finger when the fire sparked into life.
"Ouch!" She stuck the tip of her burned finger in her mouth reflexively.
"Are you alright?" She could not figure how he had appeared at her side so suddenly in the half-lit room.
She smiled a little; it was only a singed finger. "Yes, I'm fine." She pulled her hand from her mouth, embarrassed, but he took her hand with a gently serious expression and examined the burn.
It was, as she said, nothing bad, but he carefully looked her hand over anyways, touching the grimy, knotted cloth across her palm with one finger.
"When was the last time you changed these?" he asked softly.
"Er..." It had been several days. In all honesty, she hadn't wanted to change them since Will's rough, gentle hands had bandaged them up.
"Wait here." He swept off, and Elizabeth waited, holding his coat tighter in the chill of the cold stone room. The officers were gone now, and she listened to footsteps pass in another hallway, until, suddenly, Norrington returned.
There was a small skin of water in his hands and several strips of clean white cotton. Draping these over his arm, he took her hand gently and carefully untied and unwrapped the bandages around her hand. The cut beneath was a dark reddish black, but not infected, not painful, healing well.
James spread her fingers, palm up, and splashed water across her palm, spattering it across the stone tiles, dabbing away the old blood. She glanced up at his face; he was working with a thoughtful intensity, fine lines gracing his brow. When the wound was clean, or at least cleaner than it had been, he dried it with careful strokes designed not to cause her pain and slowly wrapped her hand in the clean cloth.
All of this was done without speaking, simple, caring gestures she frankly did not know how to respond to.
"Thank you, James," she murmured when he was done, feeling a pang for the last person who had done this for her.
He nodded, watching her eyes. "Strange storm," he finally said softly.
"Yes."
"You're sure your father knows where you are?" That was James, always looking out for her. But she wasn't a little girl any more.
"No, but he can assume whatever he likes." She was afraid of the thoughts she might have away from him. She didn't want to leave.
Norrington considered that for a moment. "He knows you better," he decided simply.
It was cold, tropic rain beginning to hammer on the roof, and Elizabeth stepped closer to him. The lamplight cast flickering patterns on his face, hiding his expression.
"Elizabeth...I...just wanted you to know...how much I care for you." His voice was very sincere and, though he was standing very close, there was nothing uncomfortable about it. He was nervous, that she could see, but the love in his eyes was unmistakable.
And she wished fervently in that moment, more than she ever had before, that she loved him like he loved her.
Once, she would have called this love, before she found herself, her heart, completely sold. But she had to buy it back, had to trade it in for this affection, these emotions that paled in comparison, and she had to do it with her whole heart. She had to really love him, with no thoughts of Will, unreservedly, because she was with him forever.
His left hand came up to tremble faintly against her cheek, brushing away a stray curl, his knuckles cool against her flushed skin.
He leaned forward cautiously, and she shook with how close he was, her skin electric with anticipation, his eyes watching hers, swallowing softly, nervously.
Elizabeth exhaled, her pulse beginning to speed without her permission, and summoned every bit of love she'd ever had for him, real or imagined, every girlish thought she'd ever had of him, every time she'd ever considered calling him husband, the comfort of his presence, the safety of his arms, and lifted her head to let James Norrington kiss her.
His lips were gentle, almost hesitant, his fingers brushing the back of her neck.
He tastes like the sea, Elizabeth thought with a mental smile, her eyelids fluttering closed.
The kiss was sweet, reserved, but full of an incredible amount of passion.
And Elizabeth gave up the ghost of what had been and loved him, moved, her heart beating faster, his breath warm against her face. Maybe she couldn't love him the way she loved Will and certainly not one-fifth of how much he loved her, but she could love him. And at that instant, she stopped letting him kiss her and kissed him.
It was a subtle difference, but she felt the change in him, the joy so strong it was almost pain, the tenderness in the way he cradled her head, the way his lips moved beneath the smile that curved the edges of them.
Elizabeth slipped one hand over his arm, feeling the smooth curve of his shoulder under his sleeves and slid her other arm around his neck. The salt on his lips was like fire, or was that just the kiss? Elizabeth didn't know, but she kept her eyes closed as his breathing stuttered, emboldened by the feel of her arms around his neck.
He pushed the kiss, softly, a little more insistence, a little more of the passion she could feel trembling behind his mouth, in his veins, his breath almost a gasp now. There was virtually no space between them; Elizabeth could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts. They were connected by fire and sparks, her eyes still closed, feeling the magneticy, the breathlessness.
Slowly, he brought the kiss back down until his lips were still and lingering against hers, only his fingers moving in her hair, then drew back, gently, reluctantly, both of their hearts hammering like the rain on the roof.
Elizabeth opened her eyes. He was regarding her with the most profound look of adoration and she found herself melt a little before his unusual, beautiful, display of humanity.
"Elizabeth," he whispered hoarsely.
"James." She wrapped her arms around him and he held her close, his head bowed over hers. She listened to his ageless heartbeat slow, her face pressed into his waistcoat and the warmth of his smell, the wash of his breathing like breaking waves.
For how long they stood there, she didn't know, hours and minutes all rolled into one.
Footsteps, a voice saying, "Commodore Norrington, sir, if-"
They glanced up. Lieutenant Gillette had frozen in the corridor. He looked mortified.
"I-uh, I'll be out...out there, sir," he stammered and fairly fled.
Norrington turned back to Elizabeth, holding her gaze in his luminous eyes, his hands restlessly soothing on her shoulders. He smiled, seeming to hesitate, then stepped back, his hands slipping from her shoulders to hold her delicate fingers.
"Elizabeth," he said again, softly, and then abruptly, his hands were gone from hers, he had turned and was striding away, his head dipped, his shoulders straight.
She stood and watched him go, shaking, feeling a brilliant glow light her chest.
He paused at the entrance to the corridor, and turned, a soft smile on his face. He held out his arm, an invitation on his face.
She walked over and joined him, looping her arm through his. They passed down the long cold corridor without speaking, shoes inaudible over the racket on the roof to the larger, main room they had come in by.
Gillette stood there, shifting slightly and examining the floor, his face a faint, dull red.
"Miss Swann," he greeted, inclining his head.
"Lieutenant Gillette."
"Your father appears concerned about you, he's sent a team down to take you through the storm with a request for immediacy."
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
"Commodore, sir, there are several important matters which I believe we would do well not to postpone. If I might..." He looked unsure and his gaze flickered over to Elizabeth. Clearly he thought he was interrupting something.
Norrington glanced between Elizabeth and Gillette, clearly torn. Elizabeth decided for him.
"Commodore Norrington, I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. I can get home by myself."
For a moment, she almost thought she saw him smile.
"Of course. Gillette, if you could wait for me...? I'll only be a moment."
"Certainly, sir."
Norrington led her through the door and back out through the fort. Elizabeth could smell the rain now, strong and sweet, gusts of cool air sweeping up the stone halls. She shuddered and James pulled her a little closer, lending her his warmth.
They reached the vast entryway and looked out, the rain hissing and spattering against the stone floor, draping the ocean in a living fog.
A footman stood just inside and he bowed slightly when they approached, gesturing at the thoroughly soaked team and carriage stopped out in the mud. "Miss Swann."
Norrington turned to her, a rare, flighty smile on his lips, and slid the sleeves of the coat over her arms.
"Commodore, but-"
"I have another," he murmured, tucking the coat about her chin, "keep it as long as you like."
Standing there in his warm, too big coat, the cuffs dragging past the tips of her fingers, watching the small smile on his face, Elizabeth felt herself fall a little more in love with him, something she'd never thought she'd do.
"Thank you."
He smoothed the coat across her shoulders one last time, then took her hand.
The rain hit them like a wall; chill water shattering across their skin, robbing their breath. Elizabeth gasped, laughing absurdly, as the cold rain trickled over her neck and down the front of her dress. They were soaked in a matter of seconds, though they hurried across the yard, James pulling at her hand like she was a little child, the footman holding open the door to reveal the inviting dry warmth of the interior.
But, suddenly, for no real reason, they stopped, a few feet from the carriage, and looked at each other. Water was running down his face, and he blinked, rain shining on his eyelashes. They stood in the pouring rain for an eternity of seconds, not knowing why, just staring at each other, frozen, the exhilarating chill of cold water sliding down their spines.
Suddenly, he picked her up, one arm going around her waist, the other pressing the soaked coat and skirts to her legs, and, ducking, set her in the carriage.
Elizabeth gaped at him, stunned, hoping no one had seen, her heart thudding loudly. "Commodore..."
He was very close and for an instant, Elizabeth wondered if he was going to kiss her. But he merely breathed, "Call me James," and stepping back, let the footman shut the door.
~^///^~