Okay, so I've had this plot idea floating around in my head for a while, and I decided it was about time I work on it and get it posted. I only have the first few chapters written right now, so updates may be a little slow (especially since my life can get a little busy), but I want to get this story completed. Wish me luck!

"James Norrington… do you fear death?"

…

With a heavy gasp, James shot up, coughing and gasping for air. His chest felt like it was on fire, his throat burning, his eyes stinging from the bright sunlight. He couldn't remember anything. What happened to him? How did he end up here? Or, better yet, where was here?

When he could finally see more than just white, James was looking out at the rich blue ocean. For many long moments, he watched the water serenely rolling up onto the sand as he tried to calm his breathing. He still tried to recall how he ended up on this beach, but the last thing he could remember—and this James realized with another gasp—was being stabbed through the chest on the Flying Dutchman. James looked down at his chest, pulling his shirt aside to look at the large pink scar. He was utterly confused—this looked as if it was tended to and nearly healed, but how? After stealing a look up and down the beach, James knew he was alone, so whoever took care of him had disappeared. Right now, he had a million questions and no way of getting any answers.

James wasn't sure how long he sat on the beach, but he knew it was a while; he just couldn't bring himself to get up and move. A part of him was afraid that he may hurt himself if he tried getting up, another part just needed time to think. There was a whirlwind of thoughts running through his head, but he felt, more than anything else, lost and numb. Looking back to those last few moments on the Flying Dutchman, he almost wished Bootstrap Bill had managed to kill him; he knew that he didn't have anything to live for anymore. If Elizabeth and those other pirates succeeded, then he had nothing to go back to in Port Royal. He would lose the title of Admiral (which he didn't even earn honorably), and it's not as if he had anyone to go back to. All he could think of was what he could possibly do now. Would he actually survive this island?

That's when James thought: was the island even inhabited? He finally decided that now was as good a time as ever to get up and explore, see what he was in for. So, slowly, James got on his feet. For a brief instant, he felt lightheaded and a little sick, causing him to stop and hold his head. Once he felt ready to move, James started taking small steps, the warm sand between his toes (which made him wonder where down the line he had lost his shoes) relaxing him some.

At first, James was certain he was here alone—he saw no signs of human life on the beach and he was hesitant to start journeying into the forest. And as he considered this, he wondered who would abandon someone they just saved.

After a bit of walking, James thought maybe he needed to figure out how he'd survive here. But he then noticed something down the beach that looked like a dock. With a renewed sense of hope, he walked a little faster to reach it. If there was a port here, it would help him considerably.

Eventually, the dock came in full sight. It was much smaller than the one at Port Royal, but there was evidence of activity nonetheless. Soon, the small town nearby came into view; this was also significantly smaller than Port Royal, but oddly enough that put James at ease. As he observed the structures, he took in how different it was from his former home. If anything, it reminded him of Tortuga's architecture (though that was still a part of his life he tried to ignore).

James found himself practically running for the busy streets.

Unknown to him, he had had some company keeping a close eye on him. From a cluster of rocks some distance off the shore, large hazel eyes had followed James' movements since before he awoke. They watched in interest and concern for the man as the individual had to practically forced themselves not to jump to his aid. And once James finally awoke, the eyes were full of excitement. For a long time, as James sat silently, the individual wondered; wondered the man's name, life, how he came to be practically dead aboard the Flying Dutchman. They wanted answers.

When James was back on his feet, the person stayed with him, swimming from rock to rock to keep eyes on him. As they swam, long, almost purple tinted locks floated behind, eyes never leaving James, worried for his injury. Once he was finally making his way into the town, the person relaxed—now, he'd be fine and wouldn't need them anymore. They glanced out at the endless ocean and sighed with some disappointment.

Finally, with a last glance back at James' disappearing form, they dove into the blue water.

I always love hearing back, so let me know what you think! I know there's not much to go on right now, but I hope to see some interest, it'll motivate me to work harder on this story! So, if you have comments, questions, concerns, etc. please shoot them my way!