Title: A Thanksgiving
Disclaimer: Not mine
Rating: PG
Warning: This is about as schmoopy as I get.
Summary: Preparing for war is easy: it's preparing for peace that's the hard part...
Author's Note: So I've been reading a bit about The War of the Austrian Succession, which lasted from 1739 (depending on who's point-of-view you're looking at) to 1748. It's interesting because it's one of the first global conflicts; battles were fought not just in Europe, but in the Caribbean and in India. So when the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle was signed in the Imperial Free City of Aachen, it affected people all over the world. And, as it happens, I've written a lot of really heavy, sad stuff lately - I wanted to write something lighter, and these two things collided. The timeline fit well into my personal canon, and hey, you can't have too much backstory, so here it is.
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There are few things more doleful on this earth than a roomful of Royal Navy lieutenants contemplating the end of a war. The admirals were meeting at the Fort with the post-captains at this very hour to determine how the forces would be reallocated; the Navy needed barely one-tenth of its officers now that hostilities had ceased. And without powerful patrons or fabulous good luck, midshipmen and lieutenants, even lieutenants with the all-important epaulette on one shoulder, faced likely unemployment
So the mood was decidedly somber at their various favorite watering holes, and what was even worse, thought Tabitha Cooper, barmaid at the Mermaid's Tail, they'd all suddenly gotten very stingy with their coin.
"I can't say as I understand it at all. De town's gone mad celebrating the Peace, and y'all sit in here moping like your maman got de Yellow Jack."
"It's that we won't be able to come in here to see you as often," said Theodore Groves, but his heart wasn't in the attempted flirtation.
"Ah, go on with ya." She grinned as she set down two mugs of ale, but then glanced at them both apologetically. "And Keep says we're not to be letting you Navy boys run up charges on de slate anymore."
Grumbling, they paid for the round.
"Cheers. All for the Elector of Hanover." Groves gave toast in a sarcastic tone.
"Belay that talk! And keep your voice down! That's near to treason!" hissed Andrew Gillette.
"What, it's treason to say that England got bugger all out of this? Nothing got settled! We could've put the Spanish in their place, but no, all the men and matériel had to go to sort out some business with Prussia. Hell, I can't even spell 'Silesia,' much less tell you why we were fighting for it. Mark my words; we're all going to end up fighting again before a dozen years are up." He drained his pint after his little rant.
"You're missing the point," argued Gillette, but he was interrupted by a tap at the window next to them. At the beckoning of the figure on the other side of the glass, they both went outside.
"Tell me you got a command, Captain," pleaded Andrew. "Did they give you back the Peregrine?"
"Better." A slow grin spread across his face. "They're giving me the Dauntless."
"The Dauntless?" exclaimed Groves.
"I thought she was being refitted?" asked Gillette.
"She is… that is to say, they'll be finished with her next week, and I am to take command. And I get to pick her crew from the ground up."
The men huzzahed, and slapped him on the back. "Let's go in! We've got to celebrate this properly," cried Groves.
"Drinks are on me, but not here," said James. The two men certainly understood: the proud possessor of a command with vacancies to fill would be swarmed by the overly-solicitous. At James' suggestion, they headed to a much more upscale part of town.
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And, to be sure, the sentiments of the young gentlemen were echoed in some less exalted quarters. In the street of the blacksmiths, the mood was dampened somewhat, in all the shops except one.
Where the master's celebrations had started early.
"It'sh… It'sh not gonna affect us in the leasht. And you know why that is, Turner?"
"Because we're the best," replied Will. It was generally better to go along with him, once he got into this mood. Turner looked him up and down with a well-practiced eye: if he'd had to guess, he would've said that Brown had either two hours or one bottle to go before he submitted completely to unconsciousness.
"Because we're the besht! Damn right! Have a drink!" shouted Brown, genially.
"No thank you, sir." Will smiled. At least Brown was usually a happy inebriate.
The master blacksmith cheerfully continued on in this vein for another hour and a half, whereupon his apprentice poured him into his bed.
As he passed through the shop again, Will looked proudly at the hanging swords ready to sell. Brown was right, for all his drunkenness. Quality would always sell; it was the hacks who had to worry.
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On the way to their destination, the officers were stopped when a female voice hailed Gillette. "Lieutenant! Isn't it wonderful news?"
They turned around to see Miss Murdoch alighting from a coach. She waved gracefully, a wave that Gillette happily returned.
"Sarah! Such behavior! Do forgive her, gentlemen." The fearsome Mrs. Murdoch was right behind her.
They were happy to, and they bowed in greeting.
"It's just marvelous! The war went on for so long… but I do hope you won't be reassigned?" asked Miss Murdoch.
Gillette grinned. "Thankfully, no. Captain Norrington has been given command of the Dauntless, so we'll be stationed in Port Royal for some time."
Mrs. Murdoch interrupted. "The Dauntless, eh? That's quite a feather in your cap, young man." She looked at James approvingly.
He bowed. "Thank you, madam." This did seem to be the way things were going lately: the pretty young girls were flirting with someone else, while their mammas took an interest in him.
"What brings you to Port Royal, Miss Murdoch?" asked Groves.
"We had some things to do in town, so we're staying with Mamma's friends... we just called on Miss Swann," said Miss Murdoch. "They're all a-flutter with preparations. The Governor is bringing her out at the ball to celebrate the victory."
"The Governor's daughter?" asked James, surprised. "Is she coming out already?" He tried to reconcile the gawky hoyden he'd last seen at the Palace with the image of a poised debutante, and couldn't.
"She is, and high time as well," interjected Mrs. Murdoch. "Even considering all the trouble she's caused her father, the poor man…"
"You'll save me a dance, won't you, Miss Murdoch?" asked Gillette shyly. Asking a girl to dance in front of his best friend, his superior officer and her mother was hardly ideal, but the ratio of men to women on the island was so imbalanced that he did not dare waste any time.
"Whichever one you like, Lieutenant." She smiled as she said it, blushing prettily.
"That's enough, Sarah. We have a great deal to do this evening. Good afternoon, Mr. Groves, Mr. Gillette." She gave them the cold look that any Society mamma would give to mere lieutenants, but she actually curtsied to James. "Captain."
Again, they bowed and, once the ladies were out of earshot, teased Gillette mercilessly the whole rest of the way.
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The mood at the Maison du Sol-Se-Levant couldn't possibly be more different. The clientele comprised high-ranking officers from the Navy and the Army, wealthy plantation owners, rich merchants and other influential people. The officers all had secured posts, and business flourished during peacetime, so the celebration was loud and lusty. When Groves, Gillette and Norrington arrived, they joined the party in the main room, and enough rounds were bought that even Groves was able to toast the King without reservation.
Laetitia, as she always did, waited at least a little time before going up to greet James: it never did to appear too eager. "Captain. How good to see you again!"
"Miss Laetitia..." He smiled at her. "I trust you're well?
She was ecstatic, now that the war was over and he was safe, but she could never say that. "I am, thank you."
A cheer went up around them at a particularly spectacular throw of the dice. He took the opportunity to lean close.
"May I come to you tonight?" he whispered in her ear.
She pulled away. "Well, I don't know. I'll have to check… I couldn't risk being left alone, now could I." A total lie: she'd cleared her schedule as soon as she'd heard the good news, and turned down four offers for companionship already.
He pressed her hand and kissed it. "I await your word," he said, with that look in his green eyes that always melted her heart.
She ought to take her time, she knew, but tonight she couldn't be bothered. After making a brief show of checking with the Abbess, she led him upstairs.
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Tortuga was just as raucous in celebration as it was in defeat, so it was hard to tell how the news of the armistice was being taken.
At least, with most people.
"This is bad. Definitely, definitely not good," said Jack Sparrow.
Gibbs snorted. "What are you on about, Jack? Merchant ships will be easy pickings for a time, now that they'll not be travelling with the military convoys…"
"And a whole bunch of bored Blue-And-Whites won't have any Spaniards to shoot at, so they'll come looking for other targets, ipso facto, they'll be gunning for us, savvy? The wicket is about to get mighty sticky for us brigands…"
"Jack, yer getting old. I've never known you to be such a pessimist. Here come meet this lovely lass, her name's Giselle, I think…"
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James Norrington awoke at dawn. Unable to get back to sleep, he went down to the shipyard. There, in the drydock, lay the Dauntless, in her well-armed glory, all fresh paint and gleaming copper.
For all that he'd earned it, he was inexpressibly thankful not to be put on half-pay, like so many of his colleagues, and that his command would be a first-rate ship-of-the-line. It was a little bit daunting to think of it: seven-hundred men and all that firepower hanging on his merest word. It would have been better to command her during the war, but there was plenty of glory to be had during peacetime, too, and plenty of opportunity to continue to make a name for himself. He'd once sworn to rid the West Indies of piracy, to secure the seas that anyone might sail on them safely and without fear.
And now he had his chance.